Getting Married
by Edward Carson
Summary: Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes find out that getting married is a lot more complicated than a proposal and an acceptance. This story charts their progress through the obstacle course between engagement and wedding breakfast. Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes feature prominently, but the story is told from the perspectives of different characters. Canon in spirit, with much original material.
1. Chapter 1: The Difficult Conversation

**GETTING MARRIED***

 **DISCLAIMER** : I do not own, nor do I in any way profit from, the use of characters, setting, suggested plotlines, or ideas drawn from _Downton Abbey_. Everything belongs to Julian Fellowes.

 **Chapter 1 The Difficult Conversation**

 **Mrs. Patmore's Perspective**

Mrs. Patmore was worried for them. Ten years ago she'd have snorted in derision at the idea of Mr. Carson and Mary Queen of Scots marrying. And few would have disagreed with her. But she'd been the first to see it coming, too, and she wasn't one to let a past impression obstruct a current reality. Indeed, she'd watched the delicate dance unfolding between them with a greater understanding of what was happening than either of them exhibited. If they'd been in their youth, she'd have rolled her eyes and sighed a lot and urged them to get on with it. But at this stage of the game, she had only been able to look on in a sort of fascinated frustration and to hope for the best. Well, she _had_ made a few suggestive remarks to Mrs. Hughes, but that was approaching the matter from the wrong end, as it was he who would have to take the initiative. And she might have thought the Second Coming would arrive first. She was bowled over when he finally did propose. Thank the Lord.

Foolishly she'd thought that that was the hard part. Mr. Carson had asked, Mrs. Hughes had agreed. They could set a date, get to the church, and then...oh, sweet mystery of life! And having to wash his socks.

But somehow after the proposal - and acceptance - things got even more complicated. And then she had somehow gotten dragged into the middle of it. The result was one of the most perplexing conversations of her life, followed by _the_ most _uncomfortable_ conversation of her life, a without-a-doubt, no-competition-even-close, what-she-wouldn't-have-given-to-avoid- _that_ uncomfortable kind of conversation.

And these exchanges left her where she was now, wondering why two people who were so well suited to one another, so well known to each other, and so much in love with each other, should be teetering on the brink of dissolution before they'd ever even gotten together.

This necessitated some meditation on developments thus far.

She'd noticed that Mrs. Hughes had lost the glow that had come upon her on Christmas Eve and lingered well into the New Year. Well, with the usual strains and demands of a busy working life it wasn't reasonable to expect it to continue undiminished. But, no, it was more than that. This was evident when Mrs. Hughes responded with resignation or evasiveness to the conventional questions posed of a prospective bride as to when and where the blessed event might occur. Thus alerted, Mrs. Patmore realized that there was something more to Mrs. Hughes's shift in mien.

It had taken a little coaxing to get it out of her. Mrs. Hughes did not confide easily and when she did finally confess the cause of her malaise, her friend understood her reticence. The redoubtable housekeeper, who was renowned for her unflappable disposition, was nervous about intimate relations with her husband-to-be. Well, fair enough. It was a natural reaction, Mrs. Patmore supposed, although she had never herself been in the happy position of having to worry about it. But before she could offer the conventional assurance - everyone does it and they almost all live to tell the tale - Mrs. Hughes had taken the matter a step further to wonder whether this would even be an aspect of her marriage to Mr. Carson.

The possibility would never have occurred to Mrs. Patmore. Didn't it just...happen? Wasn't it to be expected? It was the natural order of things. Who would question it? These were not, apparently, rhetorical questions after all.

Thinking about it later, Mrs. Patmore guessed that she should not have been so surprised. Mrs. Hughes was a proud woman. She was _too_ proud, really. That was her Scottish blood. (The Mary Queen of Scots epithet was not so far-fetched.) She'd gone on about feeling embarrassed and absurd, and how her age somehow exacerbated this. Mrs. Patmore was puzzled by this. So far as she could tell - and she had no concrete experience to go by, only what her sisters had imparted to her or she had picked up from a lifetime of careful listening - the act _itself_ was fundamentally absurd. And that was part of the fun of it, wasn't it? that intimacy was advanced by the lowering of barriers, a process fueled by the overcoming of embarrassment in the mutual acknowledgment of the folly of human nature? And what on earth did age have to do with it? Why, Mrs. Patmore wondered, would anyone think they or anyone else was past it?

Well, hers was not to wonder why. It was the way Mrs. Hughes felt and it was her friend's desire and duty to help her address the problem. Mrs. Patmore tried, offering up what ameliorating rationalizations she could.

On the sheer madness of being apprehensive at all: " _You know each other better than most couples at the start_." ******

On Mrs. Hughes's fretful description of herself as someone in "late middle age": " _Don't say 'late_.'"

On physical appeal: " _Perhaps you could keep the lights off?"_

On the act itself: " _There's nothing so terrible about it, so they say. Not that I'd know, of course_."

On the _quid pro quo_ of Mrs. Hughes's apprehensions about being seen naked: _"Won't he feel the same? No one's clapped eyes on him without his togs in years, except the doctor._ "

She had expected these remarks to put the matter in perspective. It instead prompted Mrs. Hughes to what Mrs. Patmore considered an outlandish idea - that she and Mr. Carson might marry and then " _leave that side of things alone_ ," and live together as brother and sister.

Somehow Mrs. Hughes missed - or ignored - the stunned look on her friend's face. Mrs. Patmore, who had an answer - or at least a pithy quip - for everything, had no response to that. Indeed, she was so taken aback that she was left vulnerable to Mrs. Hughes's sudden initiative that her friend undertake to ascertain the exact nature of Mr. Carson's marital expectations. She left the housekeeper's bedroom muttering, " _I've had some commissions in my time, but..._ "

And then she'd been obliged to take this most awkward of matters to Mr. Carson.

She tried once and failed. Even a dose of Mr. Carson's best sherry, swallowed in one, could not bolster her nerve. But then he sought her out, having himself discerned Mrs. Hughes's disquiet, and they got to it. It was the worse conversation Mrs. Patmore could ever imagine having, both for the subject itself and the person with whom she was having it.

Mr. Carson was a man, the most dignified man she knew. And he would be embarrassed possibly even more than she was, which was saying something. On top of that, Mrs. Patmore was uncomfortable with Mrs. Hughes's views, views that stood at odds with her own understandings of the promise and obligations of marriage. She went ahead with it, she realized, not even so much because Mrs. Hughes had asked her to, but because it was a real problem and she wanted to see it resolved. These two belonged together.

When it came to it, the conversation, though difficult, was the better one. _She_ was embarrassed, but to her surprise _he_ was less embarrassed than concerned. He was confused and she sympathized. Was this not a natural aspect of marriage? What she did not expect was the gravity with which he approached the subject and the dignity of his response.

When she confessed her discomfort, he waved it away. " _I'm not embarrassed exactly. I do not believe embarrassment has much of a part to play when something is as important as this."_

And when they got to it and she put to him the question of the nature of their marriage, he was more forthright by far than Mrs. Hughes had been.

" _Tell her this, Mrs. Patmore. That in my eyes she is beautiful._ "

" _You say she asks if I want a full marriage, and the answer is, yes, I do. I want a real marriage, a true marriage, with everything that that involves._ "

" _I love her, Mrs Patmore. I am happy and tickled and bursting with pride that she would agree to be my wife. And I want us to live as closely as two people can for the time that remains to us on earth._ "

Oh, my. If ever a man made such a declaration about her, Mrs. Patmore would marry him on the spot and never let him go. She'd known of his love for Mrs. Hughes, seen it for a long time, and been impatient with him about expressing it. But goodness, he was _in love_ with the woman - not the puppy dog or juvenile kind, but deeply, passionately, the 'til-death-do-us-part my-heart-will-break-without-you kind of love. Mrs. Patmore was emotionally moved by his statement.

She left him relieved the conversation was over, impressed by the magnitude of his love, and completely on his side in the matter of the nature of marriage. Really, she hadn't known a man could feel like that about... _that side_ of it. And Mr. Carson of all men. _It gives hope to us all_ , she'd thought.

As much as she'd hesitated to approach Mr. Carson, now she wavered about seeking out Mrs. Hughes once more. The exchanges with both of them had left her more than unsettled and she rather wished she had not become party to it. She wanted to gather her thoughts before they conversed again and she let Mrs. Hughes come to her.

But Mrs. Hughes was, perhaps understandably, on tenterhooks and so approached her at the first opportunity, in the early afternoon lull after lunch was out of the way and the preliminaries for dinner only beginning. Fortunately Daisy was stepping out, on her way to the auction at Mallerton. Mrs. Patmore wondered if Mrs. Hughes had been watching for this.

"So? Did you speak with him?" Daisy had barely cleared the room when Mrs. Hughes came to the point. *******

Mrs. Patmore summoned her courage, a different kind of courage, for this conversation. "I did." She looked Mrs. Hughes directly in the eye. "He wants a full marriage," she stated flatly. What _was_ that in Mrs. Hughes's eyes? Fear? Titillation? Satisfaction? Relief? The cook could not tell. "He loves you," she added.

Of course it would have been better if that revelation had come directly from Mr. Carson and she wondered that he had never been so explicit with the woman herself. They might not be standing here now if he had. But in any case Mrs. Hughes had to know from _someone_. "And it's not the kind of love a man comes out with so that he can have his way with you, either. It's the real thing. And that doesn't come around every day. Sometimes never at all," she finished, with a sigh.

Mrs. Hughes misread Mrs. Patmore's look of resignation. " _I'm sorry I put you through that._ "

" _It was difficult, I'll not deny it._ " Although it had not been quite as bad as she had anticipated, Mrs. Patmore wanted the housekeeper to feel the full weight of the imposition.

Mrs. Hughes took a deep breath. " _You think I should accept his terms and set the date_."

" _Oh, no, no! That's your decision. I can only say it was very moving when he spoke of you._ "

" _He avoided vulgarity then_."

Mrs. Patmore was getting the sense that Mrs. Hughes wanted to play this out. Perhaps she sought only reassurance, or perhaps it was in some way a little gratifying to hear at length the details of the man's love. " _Vulgarity! Mr. Carson wouldn't be vulgar if you put him on a seaside postcard. I'd like to feel a man could speak of me like that at my age. I would._ "

Or perhaps there was something else on Mrs. Hughes's mind. "You...do _you_ love _him_?"

"What?" Mrs. Hughes began to sputter, shocked by the implications of Mrs. Patmore's words.

The cook ignored this effusion of indignation. "You're thinking about this too much. It's not that complicated. You wouldn't want to let your pride get in the way of happiness."

And then she pulled the flour and salt tins toward her and turned her mind to her work. " _Now, I must get on."_ And she would not say another word on the subject.

 **Mr. Carson's Heart**

He was devastated.

Mr. Carson was a man who concerned himself with details. He was conscientious and thorough-going about everything. Naturally, in so momentous a step as marriage, he had bent himself to anticipating problems and resolving them as he found them, all with a view to ensuring that it would run as smoothly as possible.

But this... He hadn't even thought about this. It just... _was_. Only, apparently it _wasn't_ , at least not for Mrs. Hughes and this meant that he now had to consider it. She had doubts, perhaps didn't even want that kind of a relationship. And this had put him in a position he had never envisaged. He must ask himself why he wanted it. Because he did.

It could be a vulgar thing. He knew this because he had seen a few things in his life, although he never talked about them. Young men, in particular, were given to reducing it to the crudest of terms, although all men were susceptible to that way of thinking. It was the reason he had always been so harsh on the footmen. He himself had led a highly moral life in that regard, though he had not been without temptation if long ago. Since proposing to Mrs. Hughes his mind had turned more and more to this aspect of their relationship and he had spent sleepless hours imagining how it might be between them. And taken pleasure from doing so. Was this a bad thing?

He might once have thought so. In his mind's eye he _had_ gone farther down this road than an unmarried man ought to do. But...the conversation with Mrs. Patmore had, bizarrely, convinced him otherwise. Although he had never articulated it before - to himself or anyone else - what he said to Mrs. Patmore expressed perfectly his understanding: " _I want us to live as closely as two people can for the time that remains to us on earth._ "

He loved Mrs. Hughes ... _Elsie_ ... with heart, mind, body, and soul. He understood now the idea of a full communion between marital partners. It was an almost spiritual thing. All of these components were integral. Were even one of them missing, they would not be properly married, no matter what their legal situation.

When he gave his heart, he gave it completely and he had hoped - believed, even - that she felt the same way. That she might not shattered him. He has rejected a sham marriage because it would be a betrayal of himself, a fundamental dishonesty. He would have it all or he would have nothing. And if that were the case, then he would retire in as dignified a manner as possible and nurse his broken heart - for a second time. And never be caught out this way again.

 **Mrs. Hughes's Resolve**

Mrs. Patmore's words stung her.

What did she mean _Do you love him_? Of course she loved him!

Then...what was the problem?

 _Pride._

She was incensed that Mrs. Patmore should say such a thing. She fretted and fumed over the word for hours after their conversation, irritated with herself for having sought her friend's intervention, for having solicited outside advice if it was going to come down to unfounded allegations.

 _What's pride got to do with it_? she huffed.

And then had to consider it. Perhaps everything. She did not want to look ridiculous. Or absurd. And what was that _but_ pride? And maybe the reality was that it _was_ a ridiculous thing and that absurdity was simply unavoidable. Perhaps it was foolishness by definition.

But it wasn't either. _He loves you_ , Mrs. Patmore had said. And she knew it, too. She had seen it in his deeply expressive eyes. It was there in the careful financial arrangements he had made for them - in the purchase of the house and the terms of his will. And it was on display in the quiet dignity with which he had announced their engagement to the Granthams. ******** How could she have doubted?

Oh! But she has hurt him dreadfully with this! She _did_ know his heart, knew that he had opened himself to her in the most trusting of ways. His vulnerability was there in his eyes on Christmas Eve when he had hesitatingly prompted her for an answer. _Well? What, exactly, are we celebrating?_ As if she could ever have rejected him!

But she had rejected him in questioning the nature of their marriage. He would be hurt, so hurt, by this. How could he not hear the conversation with Mrs. Patmore as rejection? She had been so afraid that he would be repulsed by her when he saw her, but she had shown him that she was repulsed by him before they had even gotten to the bedroom.

And all to protect her...pride.

He would not come to her. He had made his views - and the staggering depth of his feelings - explicit to Mrs. Patmore, the medium _she_ chose. She should have talked to him herself.

And now she must.

 **If You Want Me**

It was even harder to find the courage to do it now than it was before. It was challenging enough even to find the opportunity, let alone get the words out. Since his conversation with Mrs. Patmore they had been all politeness to each other, but he had not sought her out last evening for their usual moment together at the end of the day. And in his averted eyes and careful physical distancing she saw the distress she had caused him. Although they needed to talk in order to go forward, it did not seem that he was eager for this to happen and she could hardly blame him. He probably anticipated the worst.

Who knew how long that might have gone on had not the news of an arrest in the matter of Lord Gillingham's valet not come along. Sergeant Willis came straight to the Abbey the moment he had confirmation that the confession made days ago was a valid one and that Anna was cleared of any suspicion. This announcement prompted an unprecedented outburst of joyfulness upstairs and down. The Granthams joined their servants in celebration, Mr. Carson breaking out, with His Lordship's acquiescence, a supply of Veuve Clicquot and Andrew, at Lady Mary's insistence, hauling out the underused gramophone. The servants' hall had not rung with such exultation since Lord Grantham had brought the news of the Armistice.

In the midst of this, Carson managed a word with His Lordship and Her Ladyship about Daisy's shocking behaviour at the auction at Mallerton earlier that day and grudgingly gave in to their remonstrances that she be reprimanded, but not sacked. As this was a matter of official business, he asked Mrs. Hughes to join him in his pantry while he delivered the dressing down Daisy so richly deserved.

Despite the uneasy undercurrents of their own situation, Mrs. Hughes acted, as she so often did, to curb the excesses of his exercise of authority. Where he would have dwelt at length on Daisy's transgression and the necessity for punishment or, at the very least, penance, she cut him short by telling the young woman that she would _not_ be sacked. This, on top of everything else, irked him and he was prepared to return to the servants' hall without further conversation between himself and Mrs. Hughes.

" _Right. Well. Shall we rejoin the others?_ " he said formally.

But fate had given her this opportunity and she seized it. " _Before we do...I know that I've been putting you off. And...Mrs. Patmore spoke of your...conversation._ " As much as she knew they must have it out so that they might get things right between them, she still shuddered at it, for she remained apprehensive about her initial concern - how he would look at her.

He paused and turned partway in her direction, glancing at her furtively, unwilling to face her directly. " _I knew she would_ ," he said evenly. " _I hope we've not shocked you between us_." There was almost a note of sarcasm in his voice. He was still struggling with how this had come to be a problem at all.

" _No. I'm not shocked._ "

" _I thought it better to be honest,_ " he went on, " _once you'd raised the matter_." _Once you'd made an issue of something that ought to have been assumed_ , he thought to himself.

She ignored the cutting edge of his words. He was hurt. She had to keep that in mind. _"I agree. Much better._ "

" _I wouldn't want you to think I'd inveigled you into an arrangement which was not what you expected_."

Apparently he was going to milk this for every drop of wounded vanity he could. She pushed it aside, almost a little impatiently this time. " _I would never think that_." When she paused to gather her thoughts, he went on.

" _Well, if you've had second thoughts, I think we should let the staff know in the morning. I won't make a big announcement. We'll just tell one or two people and let it come out naturally. There'll be a bit of a nine days wonder, of course. But we'll get over it._ "

Oh, him! He had shifted from passionate devotion to distant hurt, with no middle ground for negotiation, clarification, or apology. And then he turned to go. She had to act now, casting aside the shreds of her pride to do so.

" _You misunderstand me_."

He stopped abruptly, his body taut with the tension of the moment, and turned just a little in her direction, waiting.

" _I was afraid I'd be a disappointment to you. That I couldn't hope to please you as I am now."_

There. She'd said it. And now she had only to await the judgment she'd feared since the dawning awareness of the physical realities of marriage had descended upon her. She looked into his great dark eyes, such vast reservoirs of deep-seated emotion that he had guarded closely for so long and then opened to her. " _But if you're sure..._ "

Now he came right over to her, as though what he had to say required nearness to have effect. " _I have never been so sure of anything._ "

They were the most emotionally potent words she had ever heard, save for that heart-stopping declaration on Christmas Eve: " _I do want to be stuck with you._ "

As then, his words were an appeal that she must answer. And now, as then, there could be only one response, although as was her way, it came in a peculiarly flat and unromantic expression, an almost deliberate antithesis of his emotionally fraught statement. " _Well, then, Mr. Carson, if you want me you can have me, to quote Oliver Cromwell, 'warts and all.'_ "

Months earlier, when he had proposed and she had accepted, they had communicated their intense feelings in muted ways - through soul-exposing gazes and a tightening of her hand on his arm. At the time, nothing else seemed necessary.

It was different this time. The emotional release of this unanticipated and highly wrought episode between them required more than a look and a smile. Mr. Carson knew this intuitively before Mrs. Hughes did and, departing from long-cultivated habits of restraint, he stepped more closely to her still, put his hands to her shoulders, and bent his head to hers. This was no tentative or casual salutation, but a deep and probing statement of passion. It was the kiss he had waited half a century to deliver. Mrs. Hughes clung to him and just tried to keep up. For him it was the sweetest thing he had ever known and he was consumed with a hunger for her that would have frightened him were he not so exhilarated by the great relief that swept over him. He lifted his mouth from hers, drawing his hands up to encompass her head, and then quite deliberately pressed his lips gently to her forehead, calming if not cooling his ardour. And then he was drawing her into his arms.

All anxiety fled from Mrs. Hughes at the first touch of his mouth on hers. In his kiss was all the passion she had seen in his eyes and heard in his words, now made manifest to her in a way she could not deny or doubt. He wanted her in the most fundamental way and it was immensely gratifying to know this. And she revelled in the glory of it. Oh! how she loved him!

They stood together, arms wrapped around each other, oblivious to the music and voices of so many only a few yards away. Never had Mr. Carson cared less about his reputation. In his very incautiousness Mrs. Hughes took great delight, for it was more proof still of the completeness of his love.

And there was still more.

When finally they relaxed and reluctantly moved apart and each saw in the other's glowing countenance all the affirmation either needed, he suddenly caught up her hand.

"Come."

Mrs. Hughes thought they might make the most of their rare few minutes of undisturbed solitude to solidify what they had achieved here. But Mr. Carson was drawing her to the door. He led her down the passage, his stride bold and she almost stumbling after him so precipitous was his pace. He was still holding her hand when they burst into the servants' hall where several pairs of dancers remained on the floor - Mrs. Patmore and Sergeant Willis, Daisy and Andy, Miss Baxter and Molesley.

"Andrew!" Mr. Carson boomed, "wind that machine up again!"

Startled, Andy abandoned Daisy and hastened to the task.

Mr. Carson did not wait for the music. He spun around and swept Mrs. Hughes into his arms, holding her more closely that ever he had done before, conveying to her and to everyone else the intimacy of their relationship in the proximity of their bodies. He smiled down at her and she returned the favour with a bewitching smile of her own. And they danced.

Mrs. Patmore, who had interrupted her tripping around the hall with Sergeant Willis twice already to mark Daisy's departure and return, now stopped again. She watched as Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes glided across the floor. He was a beautiful dancer and Mrs. Hughes held onto him as though she would never let him go, which was as it should be, in Mrs. Patmore's opinion. They were so fragile, these two, and in need of more management than a houseful of cats. She hoped that now things were straight between them, they would set a date and get on with it, for she knew she wouldn't breathe freely until they had.

 *** A/N1.** This is an eighteen-part exploration tracing the road to marriage taken by Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes, covering the period between their engagement and their wedding. It is largely canon, although I have omitted some of the issues dealt with on _Downton Abbey_ and have altered in part or in whole a few other developments.

 ****A/N2.** The italicized portions of the text are largely dialogue drawn directly from, in this case, _Downton Abbey_ , Season 6, Episode 1. Occasionally there is something that I have italicized because it is someone's thoughts, and it is _not_ part of the original. If you're an aficionado of these things, you'll recognize it when you see it.

 *****A/N3.** I have combined two conversations here and adjusted the sequence to suit my narrative. The italicized dialogue is, however, true to the original, even if its order is not.

 ******A/N4.** These events are explored at length in _Breaking with Tradition._


	2. Chapter 2: The Cottage

**GETTING MARRIED**

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own, nor do I profit in any way from the use of, the characters, settings, suggested plot lines or ideas drawn from _Downton Abbey_. Everything belongs to Julian Fellowes.

 **Chapter 2 The Cottage**

 **A Petty Issue**

"Have you made any progress in finding a cottage for Carson and Mrs. Hughes?"

Mary put the question to her father as he handed her the whisky she had taken to having at the end of the day.

"I haven't quite focused on that yet," Robert said, sitting down beside Cora on the sofa.

"Well, we haven't got all the time in the world," Mary went on, not moving from the sidetable. "No matter where it is, there'll be renovations and repairs to be made before they can move in."

Robert sighed. "I suppose so." He did not see over his shoulder how Mary rolled her eyes at this, but Cora gave her daughter a look. Mary was not chastened. She moved over to stand in front of her parents.

"This isn't something you can put off to the last minute, Papa. How ridiculous would it be for them to go off on their honeymoon without knowing where they're going to live when they come back!" *****

At her father's ineffectual shrug, Mary made an exasperated sound. "Would you rather I took care of it?" she asked impatiently.

After a moment's thought, Robert nodded. "Do you know, I would."

"Good." Mary swallowed the rest of her drink. "That's settled. I'm going to bed. Good night." And with that she put down her glass and left the room.

"Why's she in a mood?" Robert ventured, glancing after her.

"She's working very hard as the estate agent," Cora reminded him. "It doesn't come easily to her and she's not accustomed to the pace. And she thinks she must be as capable as Tom was when he left, forgetting what a learning curve he had."

"Hmm."

"And," Cora added, gazing critically at her husband, "she's a little exasperated that you don't appear very committed to the task of finding a home for the Carsons." Cora could not disguise her own bewilderment at this. "Why _have_ you been stalling on that?"

"I've not been stalling," Robert said, jiggling his glass a little. "I just haven't gotten around to it."

Cora said nothing, just waited him out.

"There's nothing to it," he insisted more heatedly, knowing what she was doing.

"Are you re-thinking your support of their marriage?"

He looked affronted. "Of course not! I couldn't be happier for Carson. For Carson and Mrs. Hughes."

Another moment of silence elapsed.

"Is it that you don't want Carson to move out of the house?"

Robert just stared at her. "Please. How ridiculous. He can perform all his duties effectively no matter where he sleeps."

Cora knew this to be true, but she was thinking of something else. "But he won't be here night and day, for the first time in your tenure as the Earl of Grantham. You've always relied on him to be here to hold the fort in your absence, to consult whenever there's an issue with the house. It'll be a big change for you."

"I have never disrupted Carson's sleep so that I might have a chat about some bothersome issue," he said coolly. "That was my father. And you must believe I'm a terribly fragile creature if you think I can't face life without my butler within easy reach. Really, Cora."

He had convinced her to some extent. "But there _is_ something."

He looked almost as if he would bite her head off again with a denial, but then his shoulders slumped and he relented. "Yes," he admitted heavily, "there is something. But it's so petty I hardly dare admit it to myself, let alone you."

Cora smiled knowingly. "This is about being his best man, isn't it? Maybe he's not having one at all."

"He will," Robert said immediately, confirming her assumption. "He must. It's a formal wedding. He can't get married without one. And who else can he ask?" Robert turned to his wife with a chagrined look on his face. "I told you it was petty."

But Cora only leaned over to circle his arm with hers. "It'll do him no good at all to get married, with or without a best man, if they've no place to live together, Robert."

"Well, it won't be a problem now that Mary's on to it. She'll have a cottage for them by Tuesday."

"I don't know about that," Cora said. "Things take time. Especially things involving Carson, Robert. Just be patient."

 **The Look in His Eyes**

Mary met them at the cottage. This was a deliberate strategy on her part. They had agreed to meet at two-thirty and she went ahead of time, wanting to look around before they arrived. She wanted a sense of the shape the place was in and how much work would be needed to bring it up to standard, the standard she wished Carson - and Mrs. Hughes, too - to enjoy. But it was also true that she did not want to spend any more time in their presence than necessary. It was one thing to see Carson on his own. She had, and always would, enjoy his company. She was less enthusiastic about Mrs. Hughes. The woman was a valued employee and Mary respected her and was grateful for her service to Downton and even, when it came to it, the role she had assumed in Carson's life. But she had not quite reconciled herself to this new dynamic. Mary would have said that of course she didn't expect Carson to devote his life exclusively to Downton or to her, but perhaps in some small corner of her mind she did. She had long had a privileged claim on his heart and was now obliged to share it. And she had never shared easily. Better to minimize the time the three of them were to spend together.

The cottage was almost empty. Mrs. Cobb had moved out two days earlier, off to live with her daughter in Oswaldkirk, taking with her all of her own possession, of course, but leaving behind a few sticks of furniture, including a table and chairs in the kitchen.

Mary prowled the dwelling, opening and closing doors, testing the stability of shelves in the pantry, checking for draughts, running the taps in the kitchen and the lavatory upstairs, flushing the toilet. Thank God there was indoor plumbing. If there hadn't been, she'd have had it installed. She would not have had Carson moving back in time, and doubted that his disdain for things modern would have extended to such practical innovations.

It was useful to make such a close inspection of the cottage. She needed to know more about the cottages, and the tenants, as well as the farms, the stock, and the crops, now that she was the agent. She hadn't been in one of the cottages in years. Not, in fact, since before the war when Matthew took her on a tour, eager to show her the innovations and modernizations he had wrought upon them. It was the great achievement of his early years at Downton and he was very proud of them. At the time Mary had paid more attention to him than to the renovations that delighted him.

Abruptly she pushed away thoughts of Matthew. She did not like to be sad. And with equal determination she drove off thoughts of Tom, too, which only filled her mind as she emptied it of Matthew. She missed Tom, too, though for different reasons, most of them involving decisions about the estate.

She was glad for the distraction when Carson and Mrs. Hughes appeared, exactly at the arranged time, which was no surprise to her. She met them at the door, rather more in the manner of a real estate agent, and took them on the tour.

Mary was not quite sure how she had expected them to react. In her view, the cottage was dark and gloomy, though bright paint and some lamps might address that. Still, she wondered at their enthusiasm as they moved from room to room. Their conversation was animated and they saw possibilities everywhere. These largely escaped Mary. They were leaving the Abbey for _this_? she thought. It seemed something of a come-down to her. And yet their delight was genuine.

"It'll be a bit of a trek in bad weather," Mary observed, suddenly aware of Carson's age and reluctant to think of him traversing the route to the house in the rain or the cold.

"It's only a ten minute walk," Mrs. Hughes responded lightly.

"And there's a good gravel path," Carson added.

"The estate workers will paint the place for you, top to bottom," Mary went on. "You've only got to arrange with them the colours. That should brighten things up. And we'll have it done promptly so that you can move your things in before you leave."

"That will be lovely."

"And I've tested all the faucets. Hot and cold water are in order and nothing is dripping."

Carson smiled at her. "You're quite a practical hand, my lady."

"I've learned a few things," she said, smiling back at him.

As they looked through the empty rooms upstairs, Mary added, "There's scads of furniture in the attics at Downton. His Lordship and Her Ladyship agree with me that if you want anything from there, you must feel free to help yourself."

"That's kind of you, my lady," Carson said, acknowledging the gesture with another indulgent smile.

"The rooms are a bit small," Mary noted, as they all stopped in the larger of the two bedrooms. She could fit three rooms this size in her own capacious chamber on the gallery.

"Oh, this is quite enough space for the two of us," Mrs. Hughes assured her, walking the length of the room, and pausing to look out the curtainless window. "I don't know what we'll do with so much space, but I'm sure we'll fill it up eventually."

Carson nodded. For decades they had both accommodated their few worldly possessions in fairly modest quarters. They would be able to spread out a bit here.

Mary hadn't gone out into the garden, so they all made their way down the stairs, through the kitchen to the back door together. There was a window over the sink near the door and on the ledge, though Mary had not noticed it when she was testing the taps, was a small plant. The sight of it arrested Mrs. Hughes's movement and she reached out to it, caressing the delicate purple petals.

"Look at this, Mr. Carson. An African violet! Imagine Mrs. Cobb leaving behind something as dear as that. Isn't it lovely?"

He was close behind her and stopped when she did. At her words, he extended his hand, too, only he did not touch the plant, instead gently brushing his fingertips down the back of her hand. Then he folded his fingers and drew his knuckles softly over her hand once more. For a moment they stood as though locked in time and in a world in which they were the only inhabitants.

Mary's gaze shifted from the innocent but intimate contact of their hands to Carson's eyes. What she saw there in his expression, fixed on Mrs. Hughes's face which was still enraptured with the fragile little flower, gave her heart an agonizing wrench. She knew that look.

"She's forgotten it in her move," Mrs. Hughes announced, breaking the spell. "I'll take it back up to the Abbey with me and make sure that she gets it."

"And what if she doesn't want it?" Carson demanded, teasing her a little. "Maybe she thought it was bad luck to take with her everything she had."

"Then I'll keep it, Mr. Carson," Mrs. Hughes responded. "My mother had one just like it." She passed on out the door into the garden and he followed.

Mary fell back.

When Carson had announced to her on Christmas morning that he and Mrs. Hughes were engaged to be married, she had been surprised. There was no denying the happiness in his eyes as he conveyed the news, although there had also been some trepidation in his manner, for he had been unsure of her reaction, a concern that was wholly unfounded. She had been swept with joy for him. She seldom framed it so explicitly, to herself let alone anyone else, but she loved Carson and she wanted him to have anything in life that would make him happy. And if Mrs. Hughes filled that bill, then Mary was glad of it. But the news had taken her by surprise because she had no inkling of their relationship. Carson was not in the habit of confiding his secrets to her and she had had no opportunity to put the pieces together, for she rarely saw Carson and Mrs. Hughes in one place.

Nor had opportunities to do so increased in the few months since. So although she accepted the fact of their affection for each other, she had seen little evidence of it with her own eyes. They had not meant to put their relationship on display for her here and would have been embarrassed to think they had done so. But this in itself made their exchange even more poignant. It was such an unassuming series of simple things - Mrs. Hughes's quiet delight in the flower, Carson's gentle touch, their light banter. They knew each other well, were comfortable with each other at a very deep level, and had an emotional intimacy that was apparent in even the slightest of interactions. Now as they navigated the garden, Mary took a moment to recover her poise.

And then they were inside again, as pleased with the garden as they had been with the cottage and full of plans for flowers. For a few minutes the three of them discussed the adjustments that might be made and Mary, all business-like, produced pencil and notebook and made a list. Then Carson took note of the time and they thanked Lady Mary for her consideration and Mrs. Hughes collected the African violet and they left. Mary remained for a few minutes at the table where she had sat to take her notes.

They wanted to be away from the Abbey as a couple. They were looking forward to a home of their own, a more modest home in a cottage rather than rooms in the great house, as an aspect of their transformed relationship. They would have their own garden where they might plant flowers, something they had never been able to do at the Abbey. And they would have here an intimacy - emotional as well as physical - that could never flourish within the walls of the great house, so closely encumbered as they would be there by so many other people.

She was suddenly overwhelmed with memories of Matthew. Matthew, whose sudden elevation to the status of heir to an earldom and the title to a vast estate had not turned his head. Who had seized upon updating the estate cottages, making the lives of those who lived in them just that much more comfortable, as his first legacy to Downton. Matthew, who had come to love the family and Downton Abbey itself, but who yearned for a life apart with Mary in the early years of their marriage, that they might "get to know each other without everyone watching." Matthew, whose eyes told her every time she looked into them how very much he loved her.

Mary had thought she would never see that look again and then turned to find it in Carson's gaze only moments ago. She had watched him watching Mrs. Hughes, looking for her reactions, wanting to see the cottage through her eyes, wanting to feel what she was feeling. It was a look imbued with the passion of young love, young in a way that had nothing to do with the age of the lovers. It staggered her to have had this unexpected and intimate insight into their lives and her heart broke in remembrance.

 ***A/N1.** How ridiculous indeed that the Carsons should go away on their honeymoon and return to find that members of staff had packed up their rooms and relocated them to the cottage they had never set eyes on. I couldn't see this happening.


	3. Chapter 3: The Dress

**GETTING MARRIED**

 **Chapter 3 The Dress**

 **Modest Options**

The last time Mrs. Patmore had asked Mrs. Hughes a personal question when they were upstairs in the servants' quarters, she'd gotten far more than she bargained for in terms of insights into the housekeeper's views of marriage. But now, believing Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Carson to be well launched on the road to matrimony, with no serious obstacles in sight, the intrepid cook turned to a different subject.

"Well, now that you've got the date and the venue for the reception and some idea of what the breakfast will consist of, what are you going to wear?" *****

They had met at the top of the stairs, the housekeeper about to descend, Mrs. Patmore on her way to get a fresh apron, and the question just popped out.

Mrs. Hughes hesitated. "Let me show you," she said, turning back toward her room.

Mrs. Patmore obligingly followed.

"Thank you, by the way, for agreeing to make the wedding breakfast," Mrs. Hughes said, over her shoulder. "It's quite a relief. We both of us know you'll do everything exactly right. But it is a lot to ask."

"Not really," Mrs. Patmore said with a shrug. "After Lady Mary's wedding, and Lady Edith's aborted one, and Mr. Matthew and Miss Swire's, too, come to think of it, yours is almost a light entertainment. Oh, there'll be plenty and it will be perfect...," if she did say so herself, "...but it's a more modest scale."

"You're a good friend," Mrs. Hughes said, with feeling. "But I hope being responsible for the food won't keep you away from the church. From where I sit, you and Anna will be the most important people in attendance. Will you leave Daisy in charge at the schoolhouse?"

Mrs. Hughes's words brought a warm smile to Mrs. Patmore's face. "Who could have imagined you saying that about me years ago when we were battling over the store cupboard key!"

"Indeed!" Mrs. Hughes agreed. They had had a few dust-ups on that subject, although it was hard to believe now. They weren't the most natural match as friends, the taciturn housekeeper and the volatile cook, but somehow they'd overcome the tensions of their sometime conflicting responsibilities and grown fond of each other. "But then, which of us would have imagined Mr. Carson and I marrying?"

"Exactly. And that's why wild horses couldn't drag me away from the church where the two of you were being married," Mrs. Patmore assured her. "And I'd not deny Daisy the pleasure either, though she's not got quite as much invested in your tying the knot as I have. I've asked Mrs. Crawley's cook, Mrs. Dunn, to supervise during the hour or so that we're away at the church. I don't know that she's all that happy about it, because the whole village will be turning out and she won't want to miss the event, even if she only knows you in passing. But she understands that somebody's got to supervise the hired staff."

They were now in Mrs. Hughes's room. "Don't say the whole village will be there," she said uneasily. "It's not such a great fuss."

Mrs. Patmore made an impatient sound. "But it is. You're leading citizens of Downton Village, the pair of you. And it is a bit of an occasion. Everyone who knows you will want to be there."

Mrs. Hughes shifted uncomfortably. "Well, Mr. Carson may be a figure in local affairs, but _I'm_ not. How is it that neither of us has much in the way of family...," she'd almost said 'nothing,' but that would have been an unforgivable denial of her sister, even if Mrs. Patmore knew nothing about her, "...and we're nonetheless going to have a church full of spectators?" She seemed a little disconcerted about this.

"In a place where almost everyone works for the lord of the manor, in one way or another, your status at the top of the heap makes you local celebrities. And with no major family events on the horizon, you're giving the villagers something to look forward to."

"I wish it weren't so." Mrs. Hughes remembered something else. "What do you make of Her Ladyship's insistence that the breakfast be charged to the house?"

Her Ladyship had put this to Mrs. Patmore in one of their weekly conversations, and hadn't surprised the cook at all. "They like and respect you," she said promptly. "And you've given them two lifetimes of service. His Lordship and Her Ladyship are more grateful than most for that kind of thing."

Mrs. Hughes opened her wardrobe and shuffled her clothes around for a moment, and then they both took stock of the prospects.

"You've not much choice," Mrs. Patmore said bluntly, as she was inclined to do. There were, in fact, only a handful of dresses and they were either of the serviceable black variety that Mrs. Hughes wore at work, or plain, dark-hued day dresses that were only moderately less somber.

Mrs. Patmore knew that the housekeeper dressed in a low-key way which was only appropriate to her position, but she was surprised that Mrs. Hughes had no lighter options squirreled away for a day out or an occasion beyond the Abbey as well. She herself had two such dresses, one for warmer weather, the other for the colder months, and was planning to wear the former to the wedding. She couldn't remember the last time she'd made use of it - she'd bought a new blouse for an old skirt for that frivolous outing to the fair and her flirtation with Mr. Josiah Tofton, a few years back - but she'd tried on the dress just recently to make sure it still fit and it did. So she was set. But Mrs. Hughes's options were woefully inadequate. Every once in a while, Mrs. Patmore both remembered _and_ adhered to that old adage about saying nothing in the event that you had nothing nice to say, and she struggled to observe it now. She stared at the dresses and tried to hold her tongue.

"I thought I'd wear _my brown day dress_ ," Mrs. Hughes said, pulling it out. " _Anna's going to tidy it up a bit. It's simple. But I'm sure it'll be fine._ " ******

Mrs. Patmore took it in. "It is ... rather modest." That was the most polite thing she could think of to say about this unfashionable and slightly worn dress. " _I've got a new catalogue. It's so easy. You send a postal order and they send you the dress._ "

This drew a slightly exasperated look from Mrs. Hughes. " _I know what a catalogue is, thank you. But I'm too old to think a new dress will solve anything much_."

Mrs. Patmore's eyes had shifted to the dress once more. " _You're not wasting money, that's for sure."_

"I don't like to make a fuss about things," Mrs. Hughes countered.

"You do know you're marrying the fussiest man in England," Mrs. Patmore said, with a bewildered glance at her friend.

"It's who I am," Mrs. Hughes said firmly.

"It's not who he is," Mrs. Patmore muttered.

Mrs. Patmore was sceptical. She did not believe Anna or anyone else could transform this unremarkable dress into something appropriate for such a grand occasion and did not understand why Mrs. Hughes did not see it, too. A wedding was a big thing, in Mrs. Patmore's eyes, and to her mind a bride should want to look her very best. She suspected that Mrs. Hughes's natural impulse to parsimony had a lot to do with this reluctance, and if that was the case then Mrs. Patmore thought she was carrying it just a little too far. And it meant that whether she liked it or not, Mrs. Patmore was going to have get involved in yet another aspect of the Carsons' marriage because she could not allow Mrs. Hughes's indifference to lead her astray in this matter. Mrs. Patmore was only grateful that Mr. Carson had so far managed his own wedding responsibilities himself or had, at least, found someone else to advise him, because she didn't think she had the time for his problems, too.

Mrs. Hughes lingered over her dress for a few moments after Mrs. Patmore departed. It _wasn't_ very pretty. But, goodness, did she have to play that game, too? She was a very practical-minded woman and it seemed to her that what she wore to be married was far less important than the state of mind - and heart - that she brought to the union.

A pretty dress was an extravagance without purpose. The dresses she had suited the work that she did and the few social occasions she attended. She'd never had anyone to impress with her figure, even when her figure had been worth admiring. Not since Joe Burns anyway. And Mr. Carson had already proven that she did not need to wear flashy dresses to catch his eye.

Mrs. Patmore thought she was being tight-fisted. She _was_ careful with her money, but that wasn't it. She didn't have money to spare for such frivolous things and she would rather Mrs. Patmore think she _wouldn't_ spend money, than that she could not afford to do so. Clarifying the picture would mean telling the cook about Becky, and Mrs. Hughes wasn't about to do that. Secrets were very restrictive, but sometimes they were also necessary.

She could perhaps indulge herself now, knowing that her marriage to Mr. Carson came with a financial stability that would cover any shortfall the price of a new dress entailed. But her sense of self-worth would not permit her to go into marriage as a debtor. There was time enough to surrender her economic independence and she would rather not embark on it so soon.

She was stubborn, too. That kerfuffle over the venue for the reception had irked her. Her Mr. Carson aspired to grand things, in part because he was closer in social rank to the world of finer things, but also because he had lived and worked among them for so long that he had developed a taste for them. This was not so with her. Pretensions to grandeur were alien to her and she rejected them. Her very plainness at her own wedding would testify to her conviction that 'ordinary' was acceptable. And she would not be shifted from that position by the Crawleys, or Mrs. Patmore, or Mr. Carson himself. ****** *

 **Sworn to Secrecy**

"And how are the wedding preparations coming on?"

Lady Mary shouldered herself out of her dressing gown and then slipped into bed. Anna shook out the silky garment and then folded it neatly over the back of a chair. Her methodical approach, which kept her from responding immediately to the question, allowed Lady Mary to continue.

"I hardly dare ask anyone else lest I be accused of bullying." She rolled her eyes and Anna laughed. "I was only attempting to ensure that Carson received his due."

"You needn't explain to me, my lady," Anna said with a smile. "I understood. And so did Mr. Carson. And it's the thought that counts."

"I don't agree," Lady Mary said. "I think the reality matters much more. But I've learned my lesson. So all is well with other arrangements?"

Anna hesitated.

Mary stared at her. "All is _not_ well then?"

It was a difficult position for Anna, caught as she was - much like Mr. Carson - between her affections for Mrs. Hughes on the one hand and Lady Mary on the other. "There might be a _bit_ of an issue with the dress," she said circumspectly.

"Mrs. Hughes's dress, you mean." It could be no other, but Lady Mary liked to have clarity. "What's the problem?" she asked abruptly.

"Well..." Anna felt uneasy, almost as if she were betraying the housekeeper in some way. But the matter of the dress troubled her, so much so that she'd already spoken of it with Mrs. Patmore, who had agreed completely. "Mrs. Hughes is a woman of very...plain...tastes, my lady. She has had no need, in her job, for fancy clothing. Her dress...the dress she showed me, is very...ordinary. She asked me to dress it up a little for her, But I don't know as there's anything I can do." There was _nothing_ she could do, and she knew it.

" _Couldn't we lend her a brooch or something_?" Mary asked.

Anna said nothing, only gazing at Lady Mary with a meaningful look in her eye.

Mary was accustomed to Anna's careful discretion. "So that's out," she concluded swiftly. "Have you got any ideas?"

"Mrs. Patmore does. She's got a catalogue and was talking about ordering a dress by mail. She showed me the one she had in mind."

"But you don't think much of it," Mary said shrewdly, watching Anna closely.

Anna grimaced a little. "It's still not _very_ pretty."

"What did you wear?"

The question caught Anna by surprise. "Oh! Well, my day dress. But I'm a little less..." She caught herself. Unlike Mrs. Patmore or Lady Mary, Anna _did_ scrupulously abide by the golden rule.

"Dowdy." Mary had no such compunctions. She knew well enough that it was part of the housekeeper's overall role - as it was that of the female servants in general - to assume as bland an appearance as possible so as to serve as a visible contrast to the more colourful and decorative family they served. It was somewhat different for footmen and the butler, who were show pieces in an elegant upstairs tableau, though they were never to be so smart as to outshine the male family members. Still, it had occurred to Mary on occasion that Mrs. Hughes took this dictum rather too much to heart.

Anna did not agree or disagree. Instead she moved on with the point Lady Mary had raised. "But Mr. Bates and I had a simple Registry Office wedding. This is a much grander affair, what with the church ceremony and the school hall reception and a wedding breakfast with the family and the village all there."

Mary was slightly distracted. "Does it seem a bit much to you, when you think of your wedding? I mean, we are making quite a fuss over Carson and Mrs. Hughes, while you and Bates were almost overlooked."

Anna shook her head vigorously. "We don't - neither of us - think like that, my lady," she said firmly. "The family was supportive of our marriage when that was still an uncommon thing. And it was at the end of the war, when everything was subdued, and then there were Mr. Bates's difficult circumstances." Their eyes met over that. Oh, those were troubled days for John Bates. "And it _is_ Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes. It's very different. I wouldn't begrudge them a moment of indulgence, my lady. They deserve every bit of it."

"You never begrudge anyone anything," Mary said, with an affectionate smile. "Sometimes I wonder what that's like."

"And you did make some very special arrangements for _us_ , my lady," Anna added, with a coy smile. "And that meant everything to us." She was referring to the guest room on the gallery that Lady Mary had asked Jane, one of the house maids, to prepare for the Bateses on their wedding night.

Mary grinned briefly at the memory. "Can we do something about Mrs. Hughes's dress?" she asked, returning to the subject.

Anna only sighed. "I'm not sure how." As she finished tidying up the room before departing, Lady Mary sank into silent thought.

"Is there anything else, my lady?"

Her question drew Mary's attention.

"We must do something, Anna. I am determined that Carson should have the best. That _was_ my reasoning for pressing for a reception in the Great Hall, even if no one but you and Carson believed me. _Really_. Why _else_ would I have suggested it?"

"I do believe you, my lady. And I think it would have suited Mr. Carson, too. Not that he felt entitled to it, he's not like that. But only that he works upstairs and would be comfortable there. Mrs. Hughes wouldn't have been. And the wedding day _should_ belong to the bride."

"I suppose so." But Mary said this grudgingly. She still thought that Mrs. Hughes ought to have given way to Carson on this, knowing how much Downton meant to him. "But the dress is a different matter. Brides ought to look...their best...," somehow the usual adjectives of _ravishing_ or _radiant_ didn't quite fit the subject, in Mary's mind, "...so we should make some effort. What about having a dress made?"

"I think Mrs. Hughes might consider that an outlandish expense," Anna said carefully. The housekeeper, she had noticed, lived close to the bone, although there was no clear reason for doing so, given that her job came with bed and board and a reasonable salary besides. Anna did not make it her business to judge others. This was merely an observation.

"Oh, I'll pay for the material," Mary said impatiently. "And the pattern. And, if Baxter can't manage it, the seamstress, too. Only...," she fixed Anna with a very serious stare, "she must _never_ know it comes from me. That would ruin it for her."

"My lady..."

"I mean it, Anna. No one must know, not Mrs. Patmore, not even Bates. Mrs. Hughes and I are not close. It's not the same kind of ...antipathy...as it was with, say, O'Brien. But we just aren't good friends. In other circumstances one might have thought it was because of our conflicting claims on Carson, but the coolness between us has always been there."

"I'm not sure about this," Anna said uneasily.

"Look," Mary said briskly, "I'll give you the money and you can buy everything and make the arrangements with Baxter or otherwise. You can take the dress she's thinking about and Baxter can determine the appropriate measurements from it." Mary spoke with a boldness that came with a decision for action.

"But what do I say if she asks me where it came from? Because she will."

Mary made an exasperated sound. Anna's inability to dissimulate was exasperating. "Say it's a gift from you." Mary prided herself on her capacity for devising convincing untruths on the spot.

"It would be a very rich gift, my lady. Even between friends."

"Well, then say it's from you _and_ Mrs. Patmore, who is only thinking of something similar anyway. And you can pay me a few shillings for it to cover the lie."

Anna struggled with it.

"You're done much worse for me," Mary reminded her, the last and best defense. Her remark brought them both to laughter. They did have more than a few tales to tell between them.

"That's true enough," Anna admitted, feeling better about it. She much preferred the prospect of subterfuge with regard to Mrs. Hughes's wedding dress, than dealing with a druggist in the matter of a contraceptive device. Her eyes rested contemplatively on Lady Mary for a moment. "And all this, my lady, for a woman of whom you're not particularly fond."

This sobered Lady Mary a little, too. "Mrs. Hughes has served this house faithfully and efficiently for thirty years and is due our every consideration." She had learned such regard from her father and her grandmother. "Besides," she added, her voice softening, "I am _very_ fond of Carson. And he loves her."

 *** A/N1.** I decided to skip the argument over where the reception was going to be held. You can assume, for this story, that it happened as it did on _Downton Abbey_.

 ****A/N2.** The italicized dialogue is drawn from _Downton Abbey_ , Season 6, Episode 3.

 *****A/N3.** I thought Mrs. Hughes's apparent indifference to her appearance needed more explanation than _Downton Abbey_ offered us. As on this show, we're not quite done with this question yet.

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own, nor do I profit in any way from the use of, the characters, settings, suggested plot lines or ideas drawn from _Downton Abbey_. Everything belongs to Julian Fellowes.


	4. Chapter 4: The Gifts

**GETTING MARRIED**

 **Chapter 4 The Gifts**

 **Something Old**

There were two things Mr. Carson wanted to give Mrs. Hughes, two material things, to convey his love of her on their wedding day.

The first was a ring. It was the conventional gift, the expected one, perhaps really not so much a gift as a tangible manifestation of the legal and emotional contract into which they would enter in wedding. He gave the matter a lot of thought. There were two possibilities: he could buy a ring or he could give her one already in his possession, the one his mother had worn.

Elsie would probably prefer the latter, because he already had it and it would not involve his spending any money on her. She wasn't used to it and it didn't seem quite right to her. Well, she'd have to adjust at least a little on that once they were married. He wasn't exactly a spendthrift, but he wanted to be able to indulge her every once in a while. He'd never had anyone to spoil - he had showered Lady Mary as a child with attention, not gifts - and he was looking forward to doing both with Elsie. It would be all the more satisfying because she had for so long led such an ascetic existence.

With that in mind, he went to York and looked at rings. He had little direct experience with fine jewelry, but he had a sharp eye and good taste. And for years he'd noticed the accoutrements of many fine ladies, not least because observing them gave him something to do through the many hours he spent waiting - waiting at the table or in the drawing room or in the library, while the family and their guests talked and ate and drank. So he had some ideas. But nothing struck him as appropriate. He didn't even consider price as a factor. If he found the perfect ring for Mrs. Hughes, he would buy it. But he did not.

Frustrated, he considered again his mother's ring. It was a plain gold band and it did not glisten as did the new rings in the shops. But it had a warmth to it, not least because it had a history. They'd been happy, his mum and dad. Mum was a spark, Dad a bit of a curmudgeon. But she could get a laugh out of him. And they talked. And just sat together in silent communion. He and Elsie would be like that, comfortable, loving, right for each other. Only he expressed his feelings much more easily than his father ever did. And he was more fun. When they were on their own in their own place - _their_ cottage - they would dance, he and Elsie, whether or not they had music to dance to. Well, he could always sing. That would make _her_ laugh.

So perhaps Mum's ring was the better option. Elsie would like it because it meant something to him. He'd kept it all these years for no other reason, never supposing he would find a use for it.

But he was certain that it would not fit her. Elsie had slender fingers. His mother's, as he remembered them, were thicker. He would have to have the ring sized, but...how? He could wait, he supposed, and have that done with her after the wedding. But he didn't like the idea. Once that ring went on her finger, it should never come off again, not until death. It would be bad luck otherwise.

He'd heard of someone measuring a finger with a piece of string, but how was he supposed to do that without giving away the game? He could take her ring shopping, but that would defeat the purpose, too. This, he told himself, was one of those moments when it would have been useful to have a close friend at Downton with whom he could discuss the matter, someone who might have an idea. But the fact of the matter was that Mrs. Hughes was the only person who fit that description and she was in this instance excluded.

With some reluctance he realized his best recourse was Mrs. Patmore. Prevailing upon her was not an option he favoured. She had already had quite enough to do with their wedding. But having made up his mind, he put it to her at the first opportunity.

"I want to have a wedding ring sized to fit Mrs. Hughes, but I don't know how to manage it," he said bluntly. "Do you have any suggestions?"

Mrs. Patmore appeared to take his query in stride. He could not know that she found his problem much easier to deal with than those posed to her by Mrs. Hughes. Nor did he realized that as tortuous as their complicated journey to the altar sometimes seemed to her, she was nevertheless gratified to play such a significant supporting role.

"You could measure her finger with a piece of string," she said promptly, and with an air of self-satisfaction at having produced a solution immediately. His problems were indeed easily remedied.

"And how am I to do that without alerting her to the purpose?" he asked, trying not to sound impatient.

"Oh." Mrs. Patmore deflated. "Well, let me think on it," she said. "If I can have a day or two."

As he had no ready alternative, he agreed, but went away without much confidence and continued to wrack his brain for a solution.

Much to his surprise, only two days later Mrs. Patmore appeared in his pantry, waving a piece of heavy paper and all aglow with the aura of success.

"I've got it for you!" she declared.

He merely raised an inquiring eyebrow. It was his habit to meet effervescence with forbearance.

"The ring size!" Mrs. Patmore said, lowering her voice to a loud whisper. She held the paper out to him.

He took it gingerly. It was a sturdy paper about half the size of a regular sheet. In one corner of it was a finger-sized hole framed by a red stain. He looked up at her with an expression of bewilderment and she held out to him, in addition, a small piece of white butcher's string that was carefully marked in ink. "In another form," she added. "I make it up from the hole in the paper."

"Well!" he said, just a little astonished that she should have met with success and so quickly. "I'm...very grateful. Thank you, Mrs. Patmore."

She beamed at him.

He wasn't sure there was anything else to say, but still she lingered.

"I will take it to the jewelers in York at the first opportunity," he said, feeling compelled to say something. "If you're sure this is the correct finger size - left hand, third finger?"

"It is." She looked fair to bursting.

He was perplexed. "Was there something else?"

"Don't you want to know how I managed it?"

She evidently wanted to tell him. "All right," he said cautiously, and slightly awkwardly for having been prompted.

She plumped herself down in the visitor's chair and leaned over the desk a little. "I made up some biscuit dough. I thought about bread dough or mashed potatoes, but bread doesn't hold its shape and I thought the potatoes would be too soft. I made a nice firm ball of dough and then I asked Mrs. Hughes to stick her fingers into it. The fingers of both hands. You see, I didn't want her to have any clue as to why I was asking that. I said, 'push you fingers right in there,' and she did. And then, after she'd gone to wash her hands, I painted the rim of the hole of the proper finger with a very thin layer of strawberry jam - the jammy part, not the berries - and then pressed a receipt card against it, and there you are! I made three of them, just in case I botched them, and then, when they'd dried, I scored the hole with a blade and then popped out the centre! I did all three and they came out exactly the same size. And then I measured one of them with string, too."

She was absolutely delighted with herself.

Mr. Carson could only stare at her. Her exploits were beyond his imagining.

"Wasn't that brilliant?" Mrs. Patmore, though still exuberant, obviously wanted some appreciation.

"Why on earth would anyone just...stick their fingers into a ball of biscuit dough?" he asked finally, thinking this the most preposterous part of what he had heard. Possibly the most preposterous thing he had _ever_ heard.

"Because I told her to," Mrs. Patmore said complacently.

"And she did it?" He could hardly believe it. Who would _do_ that?

"I'm very persuasive," Mrs. Patmore said, with a slight edge to her voice.

Well, she wasn't wrong there. Idly he inserted the tip of one finger into the ring hole in the piece of paper. It looked like the right size. There was a slight stickiness to the red stain. And then he looked up at the cook, unable any longer to deny her success.

"Mrs. Patmore, I stand in awe of your ingenuity. I am very grateful. Thank you." He spoke with the solemnity of sincerity. He had asked for results and she had delivered. It was not for him to question her methods.

When she had gone, he took out the ring, which he had in a small locked box in his desk. He lay the receipt paper down on the desk and placed the ring over the hole. Shining his desk lamp on it, he could just see a faint ring of red inside the inner circle. Though he had to shake his head at Mrs. Patmore's means, she had clearly achieved the result he sought. He picked the ring up again, wiped it clean of the sticky residue, and then put it, the informative piece of paper, and the little bit of string into his box. He would take them to York at the first opportunity.

 **Something New**

The second gift he wanted to give her was more complicated because it was more personal. He'd never given Mrs. Hughes a personal gift. Oh, they'd exchanged Christmas presents over the years, handkerchiefs and books mostly, and while a book might be personal, there was still an air of decorous neutrality about it. Mrs. Hughes had given him that picture frame for Alice's photograph. That did cut more closely. And, of course, he'd given her the house. But what he had in mind now was something very different.

He wanted to give her an item of clothing. He knew exactly what he wanted, could see it clearly in his mind's eye. The problem was that that was where it remained, in his head, and getting it out, transforming it into a tangible form, was a much greater challenge than the ring had been.

And yet he was determined. He had known Mrs. Hughes for three decades and was familiar with her wardrobe. Even before he'd developed a serious interest in her from a romantic perspective, he had noticed her clothes because being observant was part of who he was, as well as a critical element of his job. He had looked approvingly on her plain black dresses as appropriate to her role as the housekeeper. He'd even thought her sombre-toned day dresses befitting of a woman of her age and rank. Circumstances had given him few glimpses of her night attire. The male and female servants' quarters were segregated and Mrs. Hughes the only person with the key to the door between them and the right to breach the divide. But he'd seen her in her nightclothes on a number of occasions, too - that time Mr. Lang's nightmare had jarred them from their beds; when the telegram arrived announcing that Mr. Matthew had been wounded; the night - that awful night - that Lady Sybil had died; and that time Lady Edith set fire to her room, prompting an evacuation of the Abbey in the middle of the night. He'd not paid that much attention on the earlier occasions, but by the time of the house fire, he'd begun to look at Mrs. Hughes differently and to notice, quite deliberately, every detail about her from that more personal angle.

They none of them among the servants had exciting night clothes. Everything was functional, meant largely to keep them warm in the draughty attics. And they had no one to impress or woo, as it was the convention that house servants did not marry, and no opportunity to show off anyway, so had nothing besides vanity to indulge by wearing anything fancy. His own pajamas were perhaps a decade old, and though worn, were still serviceable. Mrs. Hughes had worn a housecoat over her nightclothes each time he had seen her, but he'd glimpsed enough to know she had a faded flannel gown that had seen many years' use.

She should have something new to wear to bed once they were married. It must be not only new, but also pretty. She probably hadn't had anything new _or_ pretty in decades. And she had confessed, in that painful exchange over the nature of their marriage, that she doubted her physical appeal. A pretty nightgown might bolster her confidence. He thought her beautiful no matter what she was wearing, but women - even, he suspected, a woman as determinedly practical as Mrs. Hughes - set such store by appearance.

And, more, he wanted to give her an intimate gift, something that testified to the new and different level of their relationship as a married couple. As her husband, he could take liberties - in thought, word, and deed - that were inappropriate in any other context. He was eager to stake his claim to this greater degree of intimacy.

But how was he to manage this? With the ring, he had had one in hand, failing his pursuit of a satisfactory new one. When it came to the nightgown, however, all he had was a picture in his mind and no way to make it real. So he had to resort to the shops and went again to York to see if he could find something that caught his eye.

But perusing jewelry was a much easier task than examining women's nightwear, usually found in shops where more intimate female apparel was also on display. He was not well known in York, not like in the smaller towns closer to Downton, but anonymity did not fuel his courage, even if he _had_ seen something that he liked. The brief glimpses he managed before he abandoned hope yielded unsatisfactory results. Nothing matched his own idea. The ready-made things were either unattractive or inappropriate. So, as with the ring, he was cast back on his own devices but with fewer resources to call upon. As uncomfortable as it was to admit it, he realized that in this case a confidante was an absolute necessity.

This required a woman. He considered his options carefully. There was Mrs. Patmore again, but he resisted the idea of going too often to the same well. She had already been seriously involved in their marriage preparations and he was wary of inviting her any farther in. And he was not persuaded that her contribution here would be that valuable. Daisy was such an impossibility that she did not even cross his mind. Miss Baxter was the obvious choice, for this was her area of expertise and he knew her to have a keen eye for fashion, as manifested in the way she dressed Her Ladyship. And she could sew. But Carson did not know her well. He could hardly put to her so personal a project as he had in mind.

That left Anna who was, of course, perfect for the task. It would be a highly uncomfortable conversation for him, but Anna would appreciate his objective. She and Mrs. Hughes had a warm relationship that would also work in his favour. And...he really wanted this for Mrs. Hughes, wanted it enough to discomfit himself in order to get exactly what he had envisaged. He loved her. And that was the fundamental fact.

This would require a more protracted conversation than the request he had made of Mrs. Patmore and also somewhat greater discretion. He did not have reason to converse with Anna in the regular course of a day and so had to watch for an opportunity. This came one morning when Mrs. Hughes went off to the home farm.

"I have a confidential matter to take up with you," Mr. Carson told Anna, as he invited her into his pantry and closed the door behind her.

"Does it have something to do with Mrs. Hughes?" Anna asked pertly, having noted the housekeeper's departure.

"Why would it?" Mr. Carson was immediately on the defensive, sensitive to the suggestion that his motives were so transparent.

Anna smiled disarmingly. "We don't have much else to talk about, Mr. Carson."

He breathed a little more easily. There was no need, really, for his agitation, other than the specific request itself. "Well, yes, it does," he admitted. He invited her to sit and then sat himself, and then lapsed into silence. He did not know how to broach such a delicate subject.

"I want to give Mrs. Hughes a present," he said at length.

Anna nodded encouragingly.

"Something...personal," he went on slowly, watching Anna's reaction carefully, looking for adverse signs. "I know precisely the kind of thing I want, but I'm having difficulty...finding it. In the shops. Indeed, I'm not sure it can be found in a shop."

She was gazing at him with rapt attention, her expression one of polite interest, but she was still in the dark.

He took a deep breath. "Only...I'm wondering if I might prevail upon you to act on my behalf in this."

Anna smiled. "Of course, Mr. Carson. I would be happy to help, if I can."

It should have been easier talking to her than to Mrs. Patmore. Anna was so much more sympathetic to his apprehensions, more considerate of his feelings, and not at all likely to ask blunt or embarrassing questions. But by this point he had almost nothing left to hide from the cook, whereas he still stood highly in Anna's regard.

"I want to give her an...erm...item of clothing," he said awkwardly. His voice sounded normal enough, but his flickering hands told of his agitation.

"A dress?" Anna guessed helpfully. She hoped they had not had the same idea.

"No, not a dress." He could not get out quite what he wanted, and only stared at her.

Now her brow furrowed as she grasped his reluctance to say more. "Not a coat or a hat either?" she said, half-questioning, but not appearing surprised when he shook his head. "Something for a fancy occasion?" Again he shook his head. "Something personal," she said, recalling his initial words.

He decided it was unfair to make her do the work. It was his idea. "A...dress...for the...night," he said lamely, almost stumbling over his words. He felt a warm wave sweeping upward from his neck. Why could he not keep his aplomb?

Anna swallowed her smile. She wasn't amused, at least not in the sense of laughing at him; it was more that he was so endearing. She managed to maintain a neutral countenance. "Do you mean a robe, or...," again he had shaken his head, "a nightgown?"

Now, his shoulders rose and fell in relief. "We've got there," he said quietly.

She nodded, pleased by their success and just a little surprised that it hadn't taken them very long at all, given Mr. Carson's reticence with personal matters. "I think so," she agreed. "Did you want to buy something or would you like to have it made?"

What a pleasure to be dealing with someone who moved so smoothly to the point! But...he didn't know, really. "I have an idea," he said. He hoped that didn't sound indelicate. He was thinking of something reasonably sedate, not some vulgar indulgence, and he worried lest she think otherwise.

"If you can tell me about it," Anna said carefully, "I could help you find it. I can go round the shops for you, if you like, or make arrangements to have it made, if that doesn't suit. Were you thinking of someone other than Miss Baxter?" She might have hoped so, for Miss Baxter already had the wedding dress on her hands, not that Mr. Carson knew it.

"I've looked in a few shops," he said, "and not...found it. And no, I'd rather not bother Miss Baxter." There was no need to let anyone else in on this awkward confidence.

"Very well," Anna said smoothly, a little relieved herself. "Can you give me a more specific idea of what you have in mind?"

He struggled to put it into words, but once he began to describe it, he realized that he had thought it out. He wanted something modest but pretty; something that Mrs. Hughes would be comfortable wearing, but that would make her feel beautiful. He had an idea about length and sleeves and colour and weight of fabric. And there was something special he had in mind for the upper part of the bodice.

"That piece may have to be done separately," Anna advised him. "I'm not sure a seamstress would be up to it, but I know a woman who does that sort of thing."

"And you don't think it...too much?" He did wonder. It was an idea wholly original to him and he did not have complete confidence in it.

But Anna was charmed by this hitherto unknown side of Mr. Carson, although she might have suspected it existed. She had seen the way he looked at Mrs. Hughes. "It's a lovely thought, Mr. Carson," she assured him. "Mrs. Hughes will be delighted by it, even more so than by the gown itself. It's quite...romantic."

They clarified the remaining details and then Anna stood up to go.

"I do apologize for imposing on you in this way, Anna," he said humbly. "I could not think of anyone else to ask."

"I'm honoured, Mr. Carson, and very pleased to play a part in such a sweet gift for Mrs. Hughes."

"But to send you to York on my own errand..."

"I'm glad to do it, Mr. Carson," she reiterated. "And I was going to York anyway, for Lady Mary."

 **The Peril of Secrets**

They held hands as they walked back to the cottage that evening. He watched her closely, listened to her trill on about the mundane events of the day, curious about her particularly buoyant mood. Anna was almost always prepared to look on the bright side of things and she squeezed as much happiness as possible out of every moment, a characteristic her husband cherished quite as much as he failed to understand it. He wondered what was at the bottom of it tonight and studied her, looking for clues.

As they made themselves ready for bed, something occurred to him. He discarded his shirt carelessly and hobbled his way around to the other side of the bed where she sat, brushing her hair. He sat down heavily and awkwardly beside her.

"I've figured it out," he said, giving nothing away in his impassive expression.

"What?"

"What's gotten into you," he said.

"Nothing's gotten into me," she responded, giving him a bewildered little smile. But then she couldn't help herself and her smile broadened.

"See? There it is. And I've figured it out."

"John," she said, with a warning note in her voice.

"You've got a secret," he went on, grinning now.

She thought about it for a moment. "Actually, I've got _two_ secrets."

"I thought so!" he declared with mock ferocity. "And?"

She shook her head. "They're nought to do with you, so you must leave me alone," she told him, but she was just a little distracted. He had a mischievous glint in his eye and John Bates did not play often. She liked to see him like that. _And_ he had taken off his shirt and sat here before her in his white undershirt, which was stretched tautly over his muscled shoulders and powerful chest. It was hard to take her eyes off of him.

"Wonderful!" he bellowed, leaning in closer to her. "I love other people's secrets!"

"You do not! You're no gossip."

"No, I'm not. I'm a vault. Your secrets - and everyone else's - are safe with me. Which is more," he added, "than you can say about just about anyone else at Downton. So, tell me!"

"I can't!"

But he was determined to know and he had in his fingertips the means to extract secrets from her. He pounced on her and began to tickle her and she shrieked with laughter as she tried, not very vigorously, to escape from him. He tickled and she fended him off with a pillow, and they managed a few kisses and finally ended up in an untidy heap in the middle of the bed.

"Going to tell me now?" he demanded, lying on his side and breathing hard from the exertion and the excitement.

"The secrets involve Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes," she said, brushing a tangled strand of hair from her face.

"Better and better," he said, his eyes round with curiosity.

"I'm not going to tell you, John. It would change the way you think about them. Well, about Mr. Carson, anyway."

"For better or worse?" he persisted.

She just gave him a look.


	5. Chapter 5: The Best Man

**GETTING MARRIED**

 **Chapter 5 The Best Man**

 **The Pressing Issue**

They'd gotten back to their easy companionship, almost as if that commotion over the nature of their marriage had never happened and they were both glad of it. If anything, there was a greater harmony between them these days, for having surmounted that obstacle. They knew each other's feelings now and were comfortable with their expectations. In fact, a sense of anticipation enveloped them both and, though they had not admitted it to each other, Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes were both counting the days.

And since their passionate kiss and embrace in the resolution of that issue between them, they had been warmer to each other, and not only when they were alone. They still observed a decorous distance, but they had stopped pretending there was nothing between them. Their greater public amity had led, at the dinner table, to a few discreet smiles between Anna and Mr. Bates, a few embarrassed giggles from the young maids who now came up from the village, and the occasional impatient eye-rolling from Mr. Barrow, who fervently wished the butler and the housekeeper would keep their affections to themselves.

In this new era of pre-marital felicity, they slipped more frequently in and out of each other's offices during the day, often to raise particular questions about their impending marriage, but sometimes just for the purpose of seeing one another. And they took tea together more regularly.

Mrs. Hughes took advantage of this ritual to take up a matter she felt could no longer be ignored.

"Have you asked him yet?" she asked abruptly.

His great eyes widened in incomprehension. "Who?"

"Don't be disingenuous with me, Mr. Carson," she said, in that reproving manner she had often turned on him, though it was tinged here with amusement. "You only _have_ one thing to worry about. You know what I mean."

He hesitated, as if contemplating battle, and then surrendered. "No," he admitted. "I haven't."

"Well, you might want to get on that. His Lordship will have made other plans if you don't speak to him soon."

She was being ridiculous about it. His Lordship would not miss their wedding. "He hasn't made other plans."

"He's probably wondering why you haven't asked him already," she went on. "I know I am."

He sighed. "I'm sure he is not. And I'm not certain it's the right thing to do."

Mrs. Hughes tried to corral her exasperation. " _No one_ , including His Lordship, could imagine you asking anyone else. For goodness sake, Mr. Carson, he's your best friend."

She knew that to be a provocative statement, no matter how accurate it might be. Predictably, the relaxed manner he had brought to her sitting room disappeared beneath a facade of frosty formality.

"His Lordship and I are _not_ friends," he said emphatically. "He is the lord of the manor and I am his butler. It may come across as presumptuous for me to ask this of him. Courtesy might well oblige him to agree, but I'm just don't know that it's proper."

His reticence only made Mrs. Hughes shake her head in wonder. "I can't believe you don't _know_ , one way or the other. I thought knowing these things was your whole purpose in life."

She was teasing him now and he really wasn't in the mood for it, not about something as serious as this. "As we know, Mrs. Hughes," he said, with an almost sarcastic inflection, "the circumstances are unprecedented, therefore there _is_ no existing rule. And that being the case, I must rely on the spirit of convention rather than a hard and fast precedent, and I am not convinced it is reasonable."

He was determined to make a simple question complicated, and yet he needed to resolve the matter. Mrs. Hughes was a practical woman. If not His Lordship... "Well, who else, then? Mr. Bates?" She paused and then said mischievously, "Mr. Barrow?"

He glowered at her at that, and then looked away. It was not in his character to avoid difficult issues, but this one had him caught between a rock and hard place. He did not want to impose on His Lordship, but he did not want anyone else either.

A long moment of silence ensued.

"I think you'd better talk to His Lordship, Mr. Carson," she advised finally. "And the sooner the better. Promise me that you'll speak to him today. The worst thing that can happen is that he says 'no.' And then at least you'll have an answer to the question for future reference."

 **An Unlikely Intercessor**

Mr. Carson and Mr. Bates did not often converse. It was surprising, really, how little need there was for interaction between them. This was due in part to the nature of the valet's job. While technically under the supervision of the butler as the senior staff member, the valet yet stood slightly apart from the day-to-day responsibilities that required the butler's attention. The distance between the two men also owed much to the fact that Mr. Bates knew his business and rarely had reason to consult with Mr. Carson on any aspect of his work. This had gone a long way to endearing him to the butler, as Mr. Carson liked a man who knew what he was about even more than he valued someone who did not trouble him unnecessarily.

Personality also contributed. Mr. Carson did not go out of his way to cultivate personal relationships with the staff, believing this to be unprofessional, as well as a complication in a situation where he might be called upon to reprimand or sack someone. Mrs. Hughes had long been the exception to Mr. Carson's aloofness. He technically held the authority to dismiss her, though he would hardly have done so on his own account. But it was more that she had never zealously observed the lines between them, treating him as a colleague rather than a superior. And she was, effectively, Mr. Carson's counterpart in her position of authority over the female staff.

Had Mr. Bates pressed the issue with Mr. Carson, as Mrs. Hughes had done, there might have been some level of camaraderie between the two men. But Bates's own disposition militated against it. He was a loner whose armor only Anna had pierced. So the two men were cordial, held each other in high regard, and generally had little to do with each other beyond the functional interactions of their work.

All of this gave Bates pause before he sought out the butler for a conversation about the upcoming wedding. In most circumstances, Bates would not even have considered an intervention. But his scruples were, in this instance, complicated by other loyalties. His Lordship had raised with his valet the issue of Mr. Carson's best man and had seemed a little chagrined about it. He hoped to be asked to fill that post and nothing had as yet come of it. His Lordship had not commissioned Bates to act in the matter, either directly or obliquely - there had been no _"will no one prompt my errant butler?_ " so to speak. But Bates could not help but feel a slight responsibility. The situation broadened his understanding of the knights' reaction to Henry II's rhetorical plea with regard to Thomas a Becket, though the circumstances were, of course, very different.

Still, Bates might have declined to act were it not that he believed the situation much simpler than it was perceived by either of the involved parties. The problem, as he saw it, was the respective social stations of His Lordship and Mr. Carson. In deference to His Lordship's status, Mr. Carson could not ask such a favour. His Lordship, in his turn, could not make even delicate inquiries without sounding like he was forcing the issue.

Bates knew what His Lordship wanted and was fairly confident Mr. Carson wanted the same thing. But neither could reasonably act, bound as they were by the strictures of the system to which they both so faithfully adhered in theory, if not always in practice. They needed a bridge and the valet felt he could perform this service.

And so, knowing already where His Lordship stood, he took the matter to Mr. Carson.

"Mr. Bates." Carson knew how rare it was to find the valet at his door, but was not unhappy to see him there. Of all the members of staff - apart from Mrs. Hughes - Bates's appearance was the least likely to mean a problem. "Come in."

Bates closed the door behind him and took the seat offered. Mr. Carson had a decanter of sherry and two glasses at the ready - no doubt to share later with Mrs. Hughes. He did not offer this or any other drink to the valet, whom he knew to refrain from alcohol except on the rarest of occasions.

"How may I help you, Mr. Bates?"

Bates considered. "I'm on a bit of a mission, Mr. Carson." The valet had thought this a fairly benign opening and was puzzled to see Mr. Carson pale a little.

Carson could not imagine the direction this conversation might take, but the last time he'd been confronted with someone on a mission - Mrs. Patmore voicing Mrs. Hughes's concerns regarding marital intimacy - it had turned out to be the most uncomfortable conversation of his life. And yet...Mr. Bates seemed an unlikely source of such discord.

"Go on," he said cautiously.

Bates forged ahead. "I'm no good at subterfuge, Mr. Carson. I want to be blunt." Unlike Mrs. Patmore in that fateful conversation, Bates was not at all unsettled by the subject matter he was here to address. He only apprehended that Mr. Carson might find it so, if slightly.

"You are causing me some alarm," Mr. Carson said, his even tone belying his suddenly palpitating heart.

"There is no cause for that, I can assure you," Bates said easily. "I only have a question about the wedding, Mr. Carson, and it is a simple one. Have you chosen a best man?"

This query both relieved Mr. Carson and created a quandary for him. He wanted to dismiss it as something he had not yet gotten around to thinking about, but to say so would have been a lie, and he did not lie easily. Or well. And it had been preying on his mind, as Mrs. Hughes had recognized, and despite her urgings he had made no progress. He did not know how to approach it. Hearing it boldly put from Mr. Bates heightened his unease. He decided to try a diversion while attempting to discern why Mr. Bates was asking this.

"I don't know that I need a best man," he said carefully.

Recognizing an evasion when he saw one, Bates smiled mildly. "Oh, I think you do."

"You didn't have one," Carson said, almost a little belligerently.

"No," Bates said agreeably, "I did not. But Anna and I had a Registry Office wedding, Mr. Carson. You're having the church and all. The family will be there, and half the village as well, with the other half waiting outside to pelt you with rice. I'm afraid you have embraced the formalities and must conform to them."

Carson's reflex response to any direction about his private life from anyone other than Mrs. Hughes - and on occasion her as well - was blustering irritation. But he didn't even attempt it here, because whatever Mr. Bates's motivations, what he had said was true. Carson sighed. "Of course, you're right." It was the proper way to do things and no one was more committed to doing things properly than he.

"You've not chosen one yet, then" Bates surmised.

It was a simple enough question, but not for Carson. "Not...exactly," he said.

Although this was hardly a clear response, it told Bates that what he suspected was true. "Perhaps I might be of assistance, Mr. Carson."

Agitated though he was about the subject itself, a different concern descended upon Carson at these words. Was Bates suggesting...? Was he _volunteering_?

Before he could voice this apprehension, or even begin to try to formulate a response to it, the valet stepped in again. "I'm offering my help in resolving your dilemma, Mr. Carson, not proposing my candidacy. Not, that is, unless you want me to serve. But I think you've got someone else in mind." He paused, but Mr. Carson, though slightly relieved, said nothing.

Bates saw that he was going to have to lead the butler into it. "Forget everything else for a moment, Mr. Carson, and tell who you want to be your best man."

Although they were not friends, nor even close associates, Carson was confident that he could trust the valet. "It is not a matter of who I would like, Mr. Bates," he said quietly, "but of what is appropriate."

Bates waited. He appreciated Mr. Carson's predicament. The regulations that prohibited fraternization between officers and men in the army were not unlike those that governed the relationships between a lord and his servants. But Bates knew from his own interaction with His Lordship that the man was not as inflexible in his domestic relations as he would have been in the equivalent military situation. His Lordship had noted with satisfaction on more than one occasion that he and Bates had transcended "the great divide." To Bates's way of thinking, Lord Grantham was, if anything, even closer to his butler. It was only that neither His Lordship nor Mr. Carson could acknowledge in words the relationship they had in practice.

Carson sighed and leaned back in his chair. "If I'm honest with myself, Mr. Bates, _and_ if I could ignore all the prevailing rules and habits that have regulated my life, my choice - indeed, the only person I would want in such a capacity - would be...Lord Grantham." It was a relief to admit this, although it hardly solved the problem. "But I cannot impose on him in this way. If I ask, His Lordship, in politeness, will feel he must accept. And I do not want His Lordship to feel obliged to...lower himself...for that reason."

Nothing Mr. Carson said surprised Bates. He understood the regard the butler had for His Lordship because he shared it. He could not characterize, as Mr. Carson did, His Lordship's acceptance of the role as 'lowering himself,' but he appreciated the butler's argument nonetheless. Still, he also knew better. "Ask him, Mr. Carson," Bates said. "He wants you to ask him."

Carson looked up sharply. "Are you acting on his behalf, Mr. Bates?" He was unhappy with the idea of yet another intermediary.

"I am not, Mr. Carson," Bates said firmly. "His Lordship made his views on the subject clear, but in a passing comment. He has not enlisted my services in this matter. I undertook this on my own initiative." He got to his feet. "I know of what I speak, Mr. Carson. Ask him."

Bates left the office door ajar as he had found it. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw a contemplative look on Mr. Carson's face. Satisfied, Bates moved toward the servants' hall in search of Anna. He had done what he could to facilitate the navigation of social barriers. Now it was up to Mr. Carson to cross the bridge Bates had built for him.

 **The Best Man**

Robert knew nothing of Bates's attempted intervention, nor did he appreciate Carson's internal agitation on the same issue. He himself was becoming increasingly resigned to waiting the situation out, as Cora had advised, although patience was not his strongest suit. Left alone with his brandy when the ladies withdrew to the drawing room after dinner, he pondered the unsatisfactory reality of being the only male member of the family. He was about to take his drink in to join the rest of them, desiring more company than his own, when Carson returned unexpectedly. He came into the room, saw that Robert was on his feet and moving toward the door, and froze, almost as though he had forgotten what he had come in for.

"You seem distracted, Carson."

Although Robert had spoken mildly, Carson responded as though he had received a sharp reprimand, for it was his job to be paying attention at all times. And his mind _was_ occupied elsewhere. "I beg your pardon, my lord," he said.

Robert waved away the other's contrition. "You're getting married, Carson," he said gently. "If you _weren't_ distracted, I would fear you had ceased to breathe. Is there...," he paused meaningfully, "...anything in particular on your mind?"

"No. Not really." Carson did not know why he felt the need for dissimulation. Perhaps it was the natural impulse to avoid burdening His Lordship with his own problems. He sighed. Now he was even lying to himself. Alone with His Lordship, he had the opportunity to broach the subject that troubled him and he still shied away from it. "It doesn't seem that men have much to do with weddings," he said instead.

This evoked an understanding guffaw from Robert. "No, well, they don't. But...are you all prepared? Any task you have left to complete?"

Mrs. Hughes would tell him that he should just come right out with it, but he could not. Still, His Lordship had given him an opening of sorts. "Ah,...yes, one or two things."

"Anything that I might help you with?"

Well. That was the thing, wasn't it? But Carson had the most finely developed sense of place in the house, and although barricades had fallen thick and fast ever since The War, he had embraced it almost as part of his job description to resist further concessions. And yet...

If he were not so convinced that he should be Carson's best man and, indeed, that Carson wanted him to be, Robert might have been more patient. He understood the dance they were engaged in, but was exasperated by it, too. He wondered, in passing, how many years it had taken Carson to cross the barriers involved in asking Mrs. Hughes to marry him. He decided to try being more direct. "If you're having trouble with some decisions, a best man could help. Have you chosen someone?"

Carson had not anticipated this turn. "I've not quite focused on the question, my lord." Now he spewing untruths with reckless abandon.

"Someone downstairs?" Robert went on. "It ought to be someone you can rely on, someone with whom you feel comfortable."

"I'm not really close to anyone downstairs," Carson said slowly, trying to make his way around to the blunt question.

Robert had exhausted his capacity for dissembling. "Upstairs, then?"

Their eyes met. They had known each too long not to know what was going on in the other's mind. Carson yielded.

"My lord," Carson began, "I do not wish to presume..."

"Just be frank, Carson."

Could it be that simple? The butler cleared his throat. "I would be honoured, my lord, if you would consent to be my best man."

" _I_ would be honoured, Carson," Robert declared, smiling broadly. In a flash his impatience with Carson's dogged commitment to propriety vanished. _"And_ ," he added, "I would have been disappointed if you hadn't asked me."

"Really, my lord?"

Carson looked genuinely astonished and Robert had to wonder at the man's obtuseness. "Of course! Who else is there? For God's sake, Carson, you've known me all my life. You held the pony's head the first time I climbed into a saddle. You wept with me at my father's grave." This spoke rather more of Robert's attachment to Carson than Carson's to Robert, but did not mean that the corollary could not be true.

It was true, and their long history together was, of course, why Carson could not imagine anyone but Lord Grantham as his best man, however socially incongruous it might seem. His last comment diverted Carson. "I was very lucky to have had His Lordship's favour," he said, referring to the Sixth Earl of Grantham.

"It wasn't _luck_ , Carson. My father was a discerning judge of character. He wanted _us_ to share the challenges of running Downton. And we have worked together in that mission for a quarter of a century. No one else loves Downton as we do. Honestly, man, to think that you might have chosen someone else." Robert just shook his head.

Carson felt it necessary to make some contribution to this moderately emotional exchange. "I would have had no one, rather than choose someone else, my lord," he said.

"Well, I'm delighted to be your best man, Carson," Robert went on, much relieved that this business of communicating at a personal level was behind them. "But you'll have to tell Lady Mary. I think she may have imagined, somehow, that she might stand up with you."

For a moment, Carson seemed concerned. And then the tension eased. "I think that is a delicate task better entrusted to a _best man_ , my lord," he said, quite deliberately.

Robert thought to protest and then surrendered. "All right," he said in grim resolution. "But I hope you know I would only do this for you."


	6. Chapter 6: The Doctor's Advice

**Chapter 6 The Doctor's Advice**

 **Some Facts of Life**

"I don't usually see you in the village at this hour of the day," Dr. Clarkson said, coming abreast of Mr. Carson in the High Street one afternoon during what was the regular hour for tea at the Abbey.

"Dr. Clarkson." Carson greeted the man affably. "No, you don't. The family is away until late," he added. He did not have to explain himself to the doctor or anyone else, but he recognized the question as a harmless social greeting and responded to it in kind.

"Indeed. Then perhaps," the doctor hesitated, and then went on, "perhaps you would join me for a drink. I've not had the opportunity to congratulate you - properly - on your engagement."

They were not friends, the butler and the doctor. Their social inequity inhibited that. Dr. Clarkson was something of an anomaly in Downton Village. Like everyone else, he was dependent on His Lordship for his living. Downton Cottage Hospital was largely funded by the endowment established by His Lordship's father, the Sixth Earl of Grantham. Dr. Clarkson himself served as the chief medical practitioner there at the pleasure of the hospital's board, which was dominated by Her Ladyship the Dowager, although ultimate authority resided with His Lordship himself.

And yet the doctor also stood apart from the villagers, tenant farmers, and those directly employed on the estate because he was a professional. The superior status he derived from this - only Mr. Travis, who held the living on the estate, was at all comparable - made him a socially acceptable visitor at the Abbey and at the Dower House, something beyond the reach of other commoners. As such, the doctor ranked above the butler, a fact subtly indicated in the way they spoke to each other. Carson addressed the doctor by his title and surname, whereas Dr. Clarkson observed the family's practice, referring to the butler only by his surname.

But they had, of course, known each other for decades. Dr. Clarkson was the only doctor in the community and was a well-known face at the Abbey, tending to the ails of its inhabitants upstairs and down. He had treated Carson over the years only a few times, the butler generally enjoying good health. But they saw each other more frequently across the social divide of formal events at Downton, the doctor securing occasional invitations to such functions. And he had had a rather more pronounced presence during the war when Downton had served as a convalescent home under Dr. Clarkson's authority in a military capacity. In such circumstances, their social division was pronounced, the doctor consorting with the family, the butler, as always, in service.

Mr. Carson held the doctor in some regard, not only for his medical expertise, but also because the man behaved impeccably whenever he came to the Abbey in a social situation, and always treated him with respect.

This divide was not inflexible, however. Although Carson could not have accepted an invitation to tea from Her Ladyship the Dowager, as Dr. Clarkson could, it was not unreasonable to take up the latter's offer of a drink, especially in such an informal context. So Carson assented and followed the man through the gates of the Downton Cottage Hospital and into the doctor's private office.

It was a congenial setting. There were glass-fronted cabinets of medicine and filing cabinets of medical records, as befitted the professional purposes of the room, but there were also comfortable chairs and Dr. Clarkson produced a bottle of fine whisky and heavy, but attractive, crystal tumblers from which to drink it.

"How are the wedding plans going?" the doctor asked, pouring two shots of whisky and sliding one glass across the desk to Carson.

It was the standard question and Carson heard it almost every day, or so it seemed. He picked up his glass. "I hardly know," he said, which was both the easiest and most accurate answer. "It doesn't seem to be something that is supposed to concern the man."

Dr. Clarkson smiled wistfully. "So I've heard."

They each took a sip of their drinks and silence prevailed for a moment.

"I'm a little envious of you," the doctor remarked. "Getting married, and to woman you know and love so well. You've been blessed."

"Well." Carson did not know how to respond to that. He was never at ease discussing with anyone, even Mrs. Hughes, how much he loved her.

"Better late than never," Dr. Clarkson said, almost to himself. And then, seeing the other's perturbed expression at this, swiftly added, "I mean it. I'd like to be so fortunate."

It was an odd thing to say. Carson had never given the doctor much thought beyond calling him at the appropriate moments of an illness at the Abbey. But they'd known each other, at least in passing, for decades. Dr. Clarkson was a Scot, but he'd served the cottage hospital at Downton all his professional life. And never been married. It was odd that Carson should find himself realizing this only now. But then, he'd never thought the life of a bachelor anything to remark upon, seeing it as perfectly normal. Now that he was on the cusp of change in that relation, he was more sensitive to it.

"Mrs. Hughes is an admirable woman," Dr. Clarkson said, unprompted. "And you've always seemed to get on so well."

"We do," Carson murmured, forgiving the doctor his earlier presumption. His mind was suddenly occupied elsewhere. "May I ask you a question, Dr.? I know I'm not speaking to you professionally...," he held up the whisky that denoted the social nature of this exchange, "...but...here we are."

Dr. Clarkson nodded amiably. "Of course. And I can assure you of my confidentiality, no matter what the reason we find ourselves in conversation."

That jarred Carson just a little. The doctor seemed to be anticipating the nature of the query. But as that was exactly where he was going, and something he would have been uneasy about in terms of discretion anyway, it seemed a bit ridiculous to get tied up over it. "Is there any reason I should ... take things... _easy_... in marriage?" He didn't know quite how to put it.

Fortunately, Dr. Clarkson was accustomed to the euphemisms of a tightly-wound and reticent English community. "You're in good health in general terms?" he asked.

Carson nodded. "As you would know, I've had no health concerns for years, not since that bout with the flu. And no recurrence of that strain during the war."

The doctor shrugged. "Then you should be fine. No need to ... take it _easy_. The important thing is to listen to your body. It usually tells you your limits."

Carson was thoroughly familiar with the communications of his body, especially recently, hence his question.

"One thing you might bear in mind is that ... certain functions don't always operate as well when you get older. It takes longer ... or sometimes it doesn't quite get there. That's perfectly normal, too. The important thing is not to get too tense about it."

To this advice, Carson shook his head. "That's not going to be a problem." Although that was the question that had popped into his head, no sooner had the doctor responded, than another concern occurred to him. "I'm sorry to press you, Dr..."

"By all means." Dr. Clarkson's _raison d'etre_ was helping people. He was always glad to do so.

"What about ... Well, are there any special considerations with regard to ... a _woman_ of a ...certain age?" He was thinking about Mrs. Hughes's apprehensions about this aspect of marriage. Perhaps she had reason to be apprehensive. He doubted whether she'd been in to inquire of the doctor.

"There are," Dr. Clarkson replied warmly. "Like men, things aren't always functioning at their best as women age. It's beneficial for the woman, and just easier for the man, if there is some ... well, for want of a better word, _lubrication_ present. This occurs when a woman is stimulated. Sometimes it takes longer with an older woman. She might require additional... care... to ... be at ease. And, remember, it will probably be uncomfortable for her, likely even painful the first time, no matter what. Perhaps for some time, even. You can't completely offset that, but you can make it easier. So it's important to be as attentive as you possibly can."

There was some vague awareness of this in the back of Carson's mind, something he'd heard once or twice, possibly ages ago. It was odd how this had become a complicated matter in itself. To hear men in those long ago days in the theatre going on about it, it took no thought at all.

Dr. Clarkson noted the almost dismayed look on Carson's face and had some sympathy, divining what he might be thinking. "Perhaps I've said too much," the doctor said.

"No." Carson turned to look Dr. Clarkson straight in the eye. "I've no pride to be wounded in this exchange, Dr. The fact of the matter is that Mrs. Hughes is _not_ the only novice involved. I'd be grateful for _any_ advice you have to offer." It was striking how context altered everything. To discuss such intimate matters with Mrs. Patmore had been an agony, because to do so was highly inappropriate. It was much easier to speak frankly to the doctor. The clinical surroundings, however comfortable, helped. But so, too, did the doctor's semi-formal manner. And this was something that fell naturally within the doctor's bailiwick.

"Well,...there is something else," the doctor added then, encouraged. This drew the other man's attention. "It's ... I only raise the matter because I sense that you are interested in your wife's ... positive experience with this." It _was_ difficult to talk about such things, but they neither of them wanted to be direct without the other's overt approval. Dr. Clarkson reverted to a generic reference in order to distance himself slightly from the personal relations between Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes.

"Go on," Carson said cautiously.

"May I be explicit?" the doctor asked. "I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

Carson did not flinch. "I am embarking on this journey quite late in life, Dr. Clarkson," he said gravely. "I don't have a lot of time to waste on learning the basics. A few hints would help."

"Your frankness does you credit, Mr. Carson," Dr. Clarkson responded, genuinely moved by the man's openness and his interest in his wife-to-be's comfort. He took a deep breath. "It's not so widely recognized by men - at least not in my experience of ministering to women - that women are capable of the same ... extent ...of physical arousal as men, though the mechanics are different."

This was news to Carson who _was_ taken aback. But he took a deep breath and nodded for the doctor to continue. This was, after all, precisely the specialized knowledge he sought. And, while the idea of a woman - the woman in _his_ life, _Mrs. Hughes_ , ... _Elsie_ \- so enraptured was rather startling, if it might bring her pleasure, was it not worthwhile knowing about it? "Go on," he said again.

"They achieve this through much the same kind of physical stimulation as men do." Dr. Clarkson, who did not often find patients so attentive to his instructions, explained in detail. When Carson looked puzzled, the doctor pulled out a pen and paper and drew a diagram. "I hope I haven't offended you," the doctor said finally, crumpling up the paper and tossing it in the waste basket.

"N - n - no," Carson said slowly. Offended was not the word for it. _Astonished_ , perhaps. "You have opened my eyes, though. And I am grateful for it. I would never have got there on my own." He wasn't sure he _could_ go there, but it was good to know. He was quite certain Mrs. Hughes would _not_ know about this. Really. How could she?

"Most men don't," the doctor said brusquely. "And then they wonder why their wives are not that interested in ... well. A little knowledge can make all the difference." He leaned back in his chair and swallowed a mouthful of whisky, hugging the glass to his chest, an expression of sadness drifting over his face.

"Dr.?" Mr. Carson wasn't usually that perceptive about other men's feelings, but the man seemed to have lapsed into melancholy. It was a strange response to the subject matter.

Dr. Clarkson sighed and then turned to meet Carson's inquiring gaze. The doctor's eyes, Carson noted, were as blue as Mrs. Hughes's, but there was a dullness to his, whereas hers sparkled. "You've been straightforward, Carson, in a way few men are. You're interested in making sure that ... things are done right ... so that this part of your life may be enjoyable for both you and your wife. I'm glad to give you what advice I can. But I will confess that my knowledge is theoretical. It will serve you well, at least I hope it will, but..." Their eyes met over their glasses. "Yet another reason for me to envy you." *****

"You've been married to your work," Carson said sympathetically, "as I have been. We neither of us have had much time for it. Until lately, at any rate."

"But the woman you love loves you, Carson," the doctor said darkly. "I have not had the same good fortune."

"I am sorry to hear it," Carson said warmly. He could not imagine of whom the doctor might be speaking, but the man's sadness was genuine, and Mr. Carson felt for him.

"Another thing, while I think of it, Carson." The doctor spoke abruptly, trying to regain his own equilibrium by resuming his professional demeanour. "About ... women. They're not always as ... well informed...as men usually are... about their own potential in this area. Especially women of ... a certain age. A few women are sometimes knowledgeable, but it's a fact of nature that they just don't spend as much time ... thinking about it ... as men do. I would advise you to approach the whole business... gently."

Good advice indeed.

 **Loved and Lost**

Because of the family's absence that evening, the staff ate at "a more civilized hour" - as Mrs. Hughes put it - and they all had some rare time to themselves. Mr. Carson wold not retire until the family came home, his last duty of the evening to secure the house, and Mrs. Hughes stayed up with him, taking advantage of a more relaxed evening together in her sitting room to finish off a very nice bottle of Chateau Montrose, which the family had abandoned the night before.

"You're quiet tonight," she observed. She'd been filling his ear with wedding details, mostly about the menu which she'd gone over with Mrs. Patmore. He'd not taken his eyes off of her, but she didn't think he was completely with her either.

"Am I?" He stirred guiltily and scrambled for something to say.

"And you've been looking at me...oddly." She frowned a little, not quite certain what to make of his absorption. "Is there something amiss with my dress?" She doubted this. He'd never hesitated to offer such critical comments in the past.

Her observation made him shift even more uneasily. She _was_ right. He had been quiet and he was staring at her, and had clearly not disguised his interest very effectively. How fortunate that she could not discern his thoughts. The conversation with Dr. Clarkson continued to distract him. How could it not? It was not as if his thoughts had never strayed to the subject of marital intimacy. Ever since Christmas Eve, he had spent what he considered an inordinate amount of mental and emotional energy on that very subject. But as consuming as his thoughts had become, the much more explicit information imparted by the doctor hours earlier had broadened this realm immeasurably. He found that he could not take his eyes off of Mrs. Hughes. Nor could he close his mind to what the doctor had said.

Imagine a woman experiencing those kind of feelings as men had about _that_. He'd had no idea. In a way it seemed rather foolish to think otherwise. They were all human, after all. And yet somehow it had come as a surprise to him and he had to assess his response to it. Did this knowledge detract from his respect for respectable women? for Mrs. Hughes in particular? He _had_ somehow imbibed the view that good women were somehow above sensuality. What did it mean to know that they were not? And it wasn't just a matter of accepting this fact of women's nature, but also of acting upon it. Dr. Clarkson's revelations had been explicit and detailed. Carson wondered, as he stared at Mrs. Hughes from this very different perspective, whether he would ever find the courage to touch her like that.

"Mr. Carson?"

He looked up at her and another unsettling thought struck him. Dr. Clarkson attended all the residents of Downton Abbey, including Mrs. Hughes. In that capacity, admittedly as a professional - and Carson would never doubt the doctor's scrupulous adherence to ethical behaviour - he had probably seen more of Mrs. Hughes than _he_ had. It was odd to think of another man having such an advantage over him.

"I had a conversation with Dr. Clarkson today," he said abruptly.

"Are you all right?" A little line of worry creased her forehead.

"Oh, yes," he said immediately, dismissively. "Nothing like that. It was a social conversation, really. He asked me in for a drink, a sort of pre-wedding, well-wishing...," _marital-advice-and-intimate-knowledge-imparting,_ "...sort of thing." He could hear the false heartiness in his voice and made a serious effort to quell it. "He said something...curious."

Mrs. Hughes merely raised an inquiring eyebrow.

"Well,..." He didn't know quite how to put it. "He was congratulating me on marrying for...love..." As he said this, Mr. Carson felt his colour rise a little. The emotional bond between himself and Mrs. Hughes was undeniably there, and they had made some progress in their expression of it - both in words and physically - but it still did not come easily.

His stumbling over this brought a smile to Mrs. Hughes's face. She was as disinclined as he was to express her feelings overtly, but she enjoyed his awkwardness when he tried.

Mr. Carson hurried on. "And he said I was fortunate that my feelings were reciprocated and he had not been so blessed." There. Now he was on firmer ground. "What do you think he meant by that?"

This was hardly the turn of conversation that Mrs. Hughes had anticipated, but it intrigued her. "Well," she said thoughtfully, "only that he has loved and the woman he loves, or loved, didn't love him back." She spoke without inflection, but did feel a twinge of sadness. She liked Dr. Clarkson very much and the fact that he was a fellow Scot was only a part of it. Mrs. Hughes always respected someone who was good at their job and Dr. Clarkson was, in her view, a skilled medical practitioner. She had personal experience of his professional skill and his compassion. Unlike some, she did not hold either his misdiagnosis of Matthew Crawley's war injury or Miss Lavinia Swire's death from the Spanish flu against him. The first, in her view, displayed an appropriate caution in an unusual case - and it turned out well in the end, anyway - and the second could hardly be laid at his doorstep. The Spanish flu respected no medical degrees. And he had been in the right in Lady Sybil's traumatic childbirth, and been prevented by that arrogant London "expert" from acting in a manner that would have saved her life. ****** Yes, he was a good man who deserved as much happiness as anyone else.

"But...he's lived here for decades," Mr. Carson went on, in a slightly incredulous tone. "Who could it be?" He was pleased with himself for re-directing both his inner thoughts and the conversation into calmer waters. And he was also genuinely curious about the doctor's admission. Even the butler of Downton Abbey enjoyed gossip, when it was exchanged discreetly with Mrs. Hughes. She knew almost everything. He rather hoped she would share more of it with him once they were married.

"Well, it's Mrs. Crawley, of course."

He didn't know whether to be more surprised by the answer itself or the fact that she knew it. "How would you know?" he demanded.

She sighed. "Oh, I've seen it in his eyes," she said quietly. She knew that look, had seen it in the eyes of other men staring at the women they loved, long before she ever saw it directed at herself in Mr. Carson's gaze.

He decided not to challenge her assertion. No doubt she was right, although it would never have occurred to him.

"He's a doctor, and she was a nurse," Mrs. Hughes said helpfully. "And her father, brother, and husband were all doctors, too. They have ... had, I suppose,...a lot in common. When she first came here, she spent a lot of time at the hospital, you'll recall." She knew he _would_ recall it, if only because Mrs. Crawley's interventions there had so irritated Her Ladyship the Dowager, which had, of course, incensed Mr. Carson. "And they worked together closely during the War as well."

"What happened, then, do you think?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe he's asked and she's declined. Or maybe...he never worked up the courage at all. It takes some men ages." Mrs. Hughes stared pointedly at Mr. Carson.

He ignored her. He'd gotten there in the end, hadn't he? "And...now Lord Merton is in the picture," he said instead.

"Well, it seems more likely, from what he said to you, that they've had it out and she wasn't interested. I doubt he'd have put it quite like that if he was pining for her from afar."

They lapsed into silent contemplation.

Mr. Carson felt for the man. He knew what it was like to love and lose, and though his experience of that had occurred decades ago, he remembered the pain, even the wound itself had healed. More recently he'd known the anxious uncertainty of loving Mrs. Hughes without knowing - for sure - that she loved him back, and had dreaded the prospect of a broken heart a second time around.

"It's a pity," Mrs. Hughes went on, breaking into his reverie. "He's such a charming man, Dr. Clarkson."

"Ought I to be jealous, then?" he asked idly, teasing her now.

Her thoughtful frown smoothed into a warm smile. "Oh, go on with you."

 ***A/N1.** From a 21st century viewpoint it is sometimes difficult to imagine a life lived without sexual experience, but historically this has not always been the case. This did not stem from lack of interest, or necessarily from sterner moral codes - although this had a restricting influence. Social circumstances and lack of opportunity were also factors.

 ****A/N2.** Dr. Clarkson may have admitted that the prospects for saving Lady Sybil were slim, but it is realistic to think that Mrs. Hughes, not privy to the doctor's later investigation of the subject, would continue to hold this view about the event.


	7. Chapter 7: The House Will Pay

**Chapter 7 The House Will Pay**

 **Her Ladyship's Dilemma**

Cora was in the kitchen, settling on the menus for the week with Mrs. Patmore.

"Is everything on track for the wedding?"

Asking Mrs. Patmore this was the best avenue to information available to Cora. Although she met regularly with Mrs. Hughes, she felt it almost intrusive to venture a personal query, especially after Mary's interference. The lady of the house and the housekeeper just did not have the kind of a relationship that permitted such liberties. Robert had a more direct role as best man and he had Carson as an informant, but men were so oblivious to pertinent detail and Carson didn't seem to know anything worth knowing anyway.

"Well," Mrs. Patmore said, looking around slightly apprehensively, "I'll have to find some wood to knock on..." She moved over to the servants' hall table and rapped her knuckles firmly on it, "yes, everything's in order. _Finally_."

Cora smiled indulgently. "I think weddings are always prone to pitfalls, no matter who's marrying and how well planned they are."

Mrs. Patmore was less impressed with the ingenuity of the concerned parties of this wedding in finding - or creating - original obstacles to their own bliss. She forbore to enlighten Her Ladyship on the problems she had resolved thus far. "I'll just be glad to see the day itself," she intoned.

"And the wedding menu? Is it finalized?"

"Just about," Mrs. Patmore said airily. "But that's not a problem." There were situations in which Mrs. Patmore found herself at sea, but cooking - cooking anything, for any number of people - wasn't among them.

"It's a lot of extra work for you." Cora only wanted to let Mrs. Patmore know that she appreciated the cook's efforts.

"Oh, it's nothing." Mrs. Patmore dismissed this with a wave. "It's for Mrs. Hughes, after all. I'm glad to do it."

This elicited a smile from Cora. "For Mrs. Hughes? Not Carson, too?"

Mrs. Patmore actually had to think about it for a few seconds. "Oh, him, too. I suppose. But she and I are good friends."

It pleased Cora to hear this and not just because it meant good working relations below stairs. Friendships contributed to happiness, and she was glad that the two women who gave so much to Downton had this blessing in each other.

"I'd like to do something for Mrs. Hughes," Cora said thoughtfully, "only I can't really think of anything."

Mrs. Patmore could. "You're paying for the wedding breakfast, my lady," she said bluntly, and she knew quite well enough what that was costing. *****

Cora only shrugged. "That's the house, really. I meant something personal."

Mrs. Patmore said nothing more, though she did wonder how you went about giving a personal gift to someone you didn't really know.

 **The House Will Pay**

Carson came into the library to find His Lordship standing by one of the long windows.

"Mr. Bates said that you wanted to see me, my lord," he said, advancing on the other man.

"Yes, Carson. Please. Come in."

They didn't usually discuss business while staring out at the grounds, but Carson did not question His Lordship's choices.

It was because they were not going to discuss business that Robert was where he was. He had the wherewithal to realize that a personal conversation ought not to be conducted in the same manner as a professional one, but did not quite know how to stage-manage the difference. Standing together and across the room from his desk was as innovative as he could get.

"I was...wondering, Carson, if you'd given any thought yet as to where you will spend your honeymoon."

They neither of them were completely comfortable discussing such matters, but Carson gave His Lordship a lot of leeway in what he might ask, and Robert, as best man, felt he had some room to maneuvre.

"We have decided _where_ , but I've not as yet made the arrangements," Carson said. "To be honest, my lord, I am still a little overwhelmed at the prospect of being away from Downton for a whole week. I've not been off work for such a sustained stretch...ever." Carson was not counting his more than two years' absence on the halls in this. He referred instead to the almost unbroken record of service he had posted subsequent to that youthful misadventure.

Robert smiled at this evidence of Carson's stalwartness. "Then it is time for such a break, Carson. You're a rank amateur at this marriage business if you think you can get away with anything _less_ than a week. And don't worry about it. You'll forget Downton even exists and be reluctant to come back at all."

Carson doubted that but was, in the moment, slightly discomfited by the implications of His Lordship's words.

Robert moved on. "Where did you have in mind?"

"Scarborough, my lord."

This elicited a bit of a shrug from His Lordship. "Are you sure? Nothing more exotic?"

"We're not looking for exotic," Carson responded mildly. "Only away. We like the coast." Carson felt a fleeting sense of satisfaction about speaking of "we," with regard to Mrs. Hughes and himself, and also that they shared this particular taste. "And we don't want to spend time travelling."

"Mmm." Robert could understand that. He cleared his throat, a cue to bring him to the point. "The thing is, Carson, I wanted to make something clear before you finalize everything." He drew himself up a little, believing that a formal statement required a formal bearing. "You are marrying from this house and, as such, all the resources of the house - the kitchens, the gardens, the wine cellar, the greenhouse, the staff, and even Downton itself, if you so wished - are at your disposal. The house will cover all the expenses associated with the wedding and the wedding trip. Take this into account when you are making your preparations." ******

An air of astonishment descended on Carson as Robert spoke. His jaw sagged a little and for a long moment he was struck dumb.

"My lord," he managed to gasp finally, "you are kind...and generous. I am overwhelmed..." As he struggled to express himself, Robert moved into the gap.

"Not at all, Carson. This is about who we are."

But Carson shook his head. "It is too much, my lord. I cannot accept."

Robert was prepared for this. "Then I hope you will reconsider, Carson. Lady Mary was wrong to press you to hold your reception at Downton. All decisions regarding your wedding must, of course, be yours and Mrs. Hughes's. But in the conviction that you are entitled to all the benefits Downton has to offer on this occasion, Lady Mary was completely in the right and the family are all agreed on this."

"It doesn't matter where you hold the reception or spend your honeymoon. Let it be the schoolhouse and Scarborough, and anything else you fancy. Only indulge yourselves, here with the assets of Downton that you may find useful, and in Scarborough with the best hotel and the finest dining."

"This isn't a gift, Carson," Robert added abruptly. "It is only what you have earned yourself - what you and Mrs. Hughes have both earned - in two lifetimes of service to this house."

But Carson was still in shock. "It is unprecedented, my lord."

"Of course it is," Robert agreed. "There _is_ no one else like you at Downton. If it makes it easier for you, I promise to extend the same benefits to anyone else who serves this house for half a century."

Carson gave him a look at that. Robert only smiled.

"You are marrying from this house," Robert said again, "and have therefore a legitimate claim to the privileges that entails." He dropped his formal manner and a sudden boyish eagerness came over him. "Please accept it for what it is, Carson."

The honest sincerity in His Lordship's appeal touched Carson more deeply than the tangible advantages being offered. He would not deliberately or lightly offend His Lordship by rejecting out of hand this recognition of his own place at Downton.

"I must speak with Mrs. Hughes about this," he said finally, meeting His Lordship's gaze and hoping he would understand.

He did. "Of course." Robert was confident that Carson would put this to Mrs. Hughes in the proper context and that they would accept it in the spirit it was offered.

"One more thing," he added.

Carson almost imperceptibly braced himself. He could digest only so much largesse on the part of His Lordship in one afternoon.

"I thought we might go to York for dinner on the evening before wedding," Robert said. "A sort of low-key sendoff, as well as a distraction."

A predictable disavowal formed on Carson's lips and Robert waved it away impatiently. "Do you think, Carson, that for one night of our lives we might be just two men?" *******

Carson recoiled visibly. "Of course not, my lord!"

Robert sighed. "When we're apart, Carson, I am as stalwart a defender of the old order as you are. But in your company I find myself rationalizing the breaking of rules, eager, in fact, to do so. Do you see what you drive me to?"

It was no use, of course, so Robert tried a different tack.

"Every man needs a distraction the night before he marries, Carson."

 **Anticipating Scarborough**

After the fiasco over the venue for the reception, made painful not least because of the tug-of-war between Mrs. Hughes and Lady Mary in which he had been the rope, Carson was wary of approaching Mrs. Hughes with His Lordship's offer. He feared she might see this as more unwarranted interference by the family. And yet he felt it necessary to put it to her as soon as possible. The arrangements they would subsequently make would turn on whether or not she was agreeable.

She listened in attentive silence while he explained, over a glass of sherry in her sitting room that evening. It took her a moment to gather her thoughts.

"This is...unexpected," she said finally.

They had, of course, discussed the wedding expenses and decided how much they would spend, and their preliminary plans reflected this. Mrs. Hughes had taken primary responsibility for matters directly connected to the wedding, while Mr. Carson had assumed control over the details of their honeymoon. They envisaged a good party at the wedding breakfast, in part to share their very good fortune with their downstairs family, for whom the opportunity to enjoy themselves without obligation was rare. This was one of the reasons why Mrs. Hughes was so insistent on a celebration away from Downton. Their wedding trip would be more modest in consequence, but they didn't require much, only to be alone and comfortable. Mr. Carson's news changed things a little.

"And how do you feel about it?" he inquired cautiously.

She did not answer immediately, only staring at him as she thought about this surprising and generous offer. "I agree with Lord Grantham," she said, at length. "Downton is part of who you are. It means the world to you and you'd do almost anything for it. If this is how the house - and the family - want to acknowledge your dedication, then I won't object."

"It's not just for me," he said quickly. "It's a recognition of us both, of _our_ work in the service of Downton Abbey."

She smiled at his impulse to include her. "Oh, I think not, Mr. Carson. Nor should it be. How do _you_ feel about it?"

He hesitated.

Mrs. Hughes nodded encouragingly. "You're allowed your own views," she said.

Well. That's not what she'd said about the venue, although he supposed that Lady Mary's involvement might have had something to do with her position there.

It took him a moment. "I am...touched," he said finally. "I'm honoured." He spoke quietly and with a gravity that conveyed his feelings more effectively than the words themselves.

Her heart swelled a little, watching him. She didn't rely on the family as he did. He had so much more invested in them emotionally. And yet it surprised him when they reciprocated. She was still wary of them. What they gave, they could so easily take back or deny. She could never fully trust them and risk herself thereby, not as Mr. Carson did. But it was gratifying, even to her, when they proved up for him, as Lady Mary had in responding so warmly to the news of their engagement, and as Lord Grantham had in embracing his role as best man.

"Should I feel otherwise?" He was still uncertain of her response, still not sure she was wholly behind it.

"You don't mind them paying for the wedding?"

"Not if you don't." And then he thought he understood what she was saying. "' _The house will pay_ ,' that's what His Lordship said. Not the family, Mrs. Hughes, but the _house_. There is a distinction there. And I take His Lordship at his word on that." He paused again. "Then...you're all right with it?"

"Yes."

She could sense his relief and wished they could have agreed on the schoolhouse as easily. She thought perhaps he'd been a little cowed by her ever since.

And she did understand both His Lordship's characterization of the gift as almost an entitlement of the house. Goodness knows, Mr. Carson loved Downton Abbey almost as much as he did Lady Mary. And she believed that a gift sincerely given ought to be received with grace, whether it was humble or great. The Granthams appreciated Mr. Carson. Let them show it.

They sipped their sherry.

"It'll mean we'll have quite a good time in Scarborough," she said, after a while, thinking of the comfortable accommodations and fine dining ahead. It took her a moment to realize Mr. Carson was staring at her, and with that oddly intense look he'd had on his face the day he'd seen Dr. Clarkson. "What is it?" she asked, puzzled.

An almost wolfish expression came over him. "Oh, we were always going to have a good time in Scarborough, Mrs. Hughes. I can assure you of that."

 ***A/N1.** In Season Six, Episode 3, Cora tells Mrs. Patmore to charge all the food to the house account.

 ****A/N2.** I was less convinced about the viability of this thread, but canon supports me here. In Season Six, Episode 4, Robert and Mary have the following exchange at the breakfast table:

Mary: _We could've managed something a little better than Scarborough._

Robert: _I offered, but that's what they wanted._

If the Carsons were taking care of their own wedding trip expenses, this conversation would not make sense.

 *****A/N3.** In for a penny, in a for a pound.


	8. Chapter 8: The Underbutler's Complaint

**Chapter 8 The Underbutler's Complaint**

 **Cooperation**

Mr. Barrow sat in the chair on the other side of the butler's desk and tried to pay attention to the cascade of information and directions pouring forth from Mr. Carson about the obligations and responsibilities attached to the position of butler at Downton Abbey.

"You will only be away _one_ week, Mr. Carson," Barrow reminded him, his gentle tone at odds with the impatience he felt. He wasn't a novice here. He knew how things worked at Downton Abbey. He'd watched Mr. Carson closely for years, determined that one day _he_ would be the butler here. Indeed, Barrow had long felt a subconscious smugness about the prospect of slipping into the job fully formed, as it were, not needing a period of adjustment, but able to effect a seamless transition because of this long apprenticeship.

Of course that dream was dashed now. His days at Downton Abbey were numbered. He'd heard with his own ears His Lordship brush away Mr. Carson's laments about declining staff with the words, " _Who has an underbutler these days_?" Barrow knew that Mr. Carson resisted this trend because it went against his own perceptions about how Downton _must_ be run, but knew, too, that the butler would carry out His Lordship's instructions in the matter. And that meant that he, Thomas Barrow, would soon be out in the streets. The butler had already been encouraging him to look for employment elsewhere. So much for being the butler of Downton Abbey.

It was a bit unfair, then, that they - His Lordship and Mr. Carson - should expect him blithely to fill the role of butler while the Carsons were on their honeymoon. So they wanted him to move on, but were content to exploit his presence for their convenience when it suited them.

"There will be a wine delivery that week," Mr. Carson said curtly. "And that requires particular care. Lady Rosamund is also expected for a few days, we're not exactly sure when. There'll be more of a fuss for dinner in consequence, with the Dowager and likely Mrs. Crawley up for that as well. These things in addition to the usual round of responsibilities, all of which require an exacting attention, do not allow for a moment's distraction."

Barrow was tempted to respond boldly, reiterating his long years of service and his almost impeccable record of service, if not honesty, but held his tongue. Miss Baxter had been encouraging him to take a different approach toward his colleagues, to demonstrate a more obliging nature, and he'd been trying. Though they all seemed to take notice when he cut them with his sharp words or made fools of them, no one had yet acknowledged his efforts to turn the page. He was still nursing a particularly abrupt rebuff from Andy, who had less baggage than any of them - none at all, actually - with him. He resented Mr. Carson's patronizing tone here, speaking to him as though he were a junior footman. But then he summoned what internal resilience he still had to make another go at collegiality with this, his most formidable of co-workers. If only he could make a dent here, then the others would surely fall into line. Mr. Carson's influence over the staff, exercised in deed as well as in word, was undeniable.

"I will do my best, Mr. Carson," Barrow said humbly. "I'm well prepared. You've trained me well." A little careful flattery never hurt.

But Mr. Carson was unimpressed. "Actions speak louder than words, Mr. Barrow."

So they did. "About the wedding, Mr. Carson."

This did catch the butler's attention.

"I wondered if I might be of some help to you there. I know that you and Mrs. Hughes are more than capable of organizing such an event, but if I may be of any assistance or play any role in the preliminary plans or on the day itself, you should know that I would be only too glad to do so. You shouldn't have to be worrying about the details. Especially in last minute arrangements to do with the reception and the wedding breakfast."

Barrow spoke as sincerely as he knew how and endeavoured to look as earnest as possible. And it wasn't entirely a facade. The Carsons' reception would be a large affair, if not of the grand Downton Abbey variety, and Barrow could pick up some much-needed good will if he were seen to be being helpful and efficient. And, almost as much as the senior staff members, Barrow took pleasure from exercising his skills in a challenging opportunity.

Mr. Carson stared at him in silence for one full minute. Few people other than Barrow could have tolerated such scrutiny with equanimity.

"That is very kind of you, Mr. Barrow," Mr. Carson said at length. "And I would appreciate it very much. It is Mrs. Hughes's view that everything ought to be so organized ahead of time that _all_ of the guests, including the Abbey staff who are preparing food and helping with the decorations and such, should be able to leave off those tasks and enjoy the party. And so you should, too. But it would relieve my mind to know that someone competent was keeping an eye on things." Mr. Carson spoke formally, giving no emotional overtone to his words. But that was his way. His sincerity was not in doubt.

Barrow responded with an obliging smile. "You may rely on me for that, Mr. Carson."

 **Betrayal**

It was unrealistic to expect that one good turn could reverse a decade and more of considered disdain, but Barrow was unaccountably disappointed that this exchange with Mr. Carson had no apparent effect. And coupled with what he saw as a continuing series of slights from other members of the staff, he found it difficult to stick with his new resolve to be a better member of the Downton community.

The only meaningful development came in his relationship with Master George, who was now old enough to venture downstairs on his own and who had no history with Barrow to taint his interpretation of the underbutler's kindness. As he found himself answering the boy's questions, explaining to him the inner workings of the grandfather clock, or piggybacking him endlessly through corridors upstairs and down, Barrow discovered a new appreciation for the relationship between Mr. Carson and Lady Mary that he had observed for decades. Lady Mary was almost an adult by the time Barrow had joined the household, but there was no mistaking the deep emotional bond between the eldest daughter of the house and the butler, and Barrow quickly understood that it was something that had grown up between them over years. He wondered what childish games Mr. Carson had entered into to amuse the little Miss Crawley. And he wondered, too, if loneliness had a role in the butler's indulgence of and affection for Lady Mary. For the butler's job _was_ a lonely one, as Barrow understood it. The butler stood between the stairs, neither an upstairs resident nor fully integrated downstairs because of the absolute authority he held over everyone there. It was almost impossible to be friends with people whom you might have to sack.

But an upstairs child was that unexpected loophole. It was possible to abandon with a child the formality required between the butler and the adult community upstairs. And there was no obstructive power relation either, as existed with the staff downstairs. In that overlooked crevice between social worlds, a loving relationship had flourished between Mr. Carson and Lady Mary. Barrow did not deceive himself that it was an equal exchange. Lady Mary certainly got the better of it. But Mr. Carson seemed quite content with his share. Barrow had seen how the man's eyes lit up when they rested on the young woman, had noticed the easy and intimate banter between them that spoke of trust and confidences built over a lifetime. It came to him that Mr. Carson had transcended the limitations of a butler's solitary existence and set an example thereby. It was a scrap to Barrow in his careful study not only of the work of the butler of Downton Abbey, but also of the butler himself.

But Mr. Carson hadn't adhered to the rules, had he? No, he'd broken out of the shell in which a butler must exist to find love in more conventional avenues. _Butlers didn't marry_. It was an unspoken rule and while there were exceptions to every rule, it was hardly to be expected that Mr. Carson should be among the radical few. His preferred position was the _status quo_. He resisted change and violations to tradition as though it were his life's vocation to do so. Barrow did not begrudge him Mrs. Hughes's friendship. That might have been managed within the framework of convention. But love? Marriage?

There was no other word for it. It was a betrayal.

 **A Bitter Truth**

"I think you're overreacting."

Barrow made an impatient sound and took another drag on his cigarette. He could see that Miss Baxter was trying to help, wanted to help. But she had no credibility.

"Andy only wants to find his own way. Mrs. Hughes just wants to let him. Mrs. Patmore knows you're not interested in him. No one thinks as ill of you as you do yourself."

He dismissed everything she said but the last, because it was true enough. Miss Baxter knew it, too, as she had been privy to that stupid effort on his part last year to change his nature. But he didn't like to be reminded of it.

"I wish it weren't so," she went on, in that almost tremulous way she had, and with that permanently pained look on her face. "You have a lot to give."

"Not that it does me any good here," he responded sullenly. "Not when I'll be out on my ear any day now."

"You don't know that."

"But I do," he said coldly, glancing at her. "Has anyone suggested to _you_ that it might be a good idea to look for a job? No. Only me."

She fretted, unable to think of what to say that might comfort him.

"I might have been butler here," he said aggressively. "It's only what I've hoped for ever since I came to Downton. And by rights, I ought to be preparing to step into that job right now. But, oh, no. Mr. Carson's not going anywhere. Anywhere except on a _honeymoon_." Barrow quickly pushed that unwelcome thought from his mind. "It'd be one thing if he was just determined to go on on his own, like." Even as he said this, he knew he wasn't being entirely sincere. He rather thought Mr. Carson was getting a bit long in the tooth and might have been expected at least to consider retiring, although Barrow knew, too, that there were butlers who ground on into their seventies, and even their eighties. "But he's _getting married_. That ought to have put paid to it. He can have one or the other, but not _both_."

"Why must he choose?"

Baxter's bewilderment exasperated him. "Because it isn't _done_ , not in proper houses. He's made his choice. He's getting married. He ought to relinquish the job to someone who can give it his full attention. It's impossible for a married man to do that."

That was the traditional rationale and Barrow knew it to be a lot of rubbish propagated by the upper classes to ensure that they remained at the centre of things and possibly that the lower classes were discouraged from reproducing. Barrow had a highly-developed class consciousness and the simmering resentment that came from an involuntary adherence to that feature of English society. That he was resurrecting a class argument here was a testament to his ill-considered irritation.

"And that's what you're angry about?" Miss Baxter asked doubtfully. "That he's getting married but he's not giving up his job?"

"Isn't that enough?" Barrow demanded fiercely. "I'm being pushed out of my job, after years of solid service, and Mr. Carson, who rightfully ought to be giving up his job now that he's dividing his loyalties, _isn't_. If there were any justice in this world, he'd just step aside."

Baxter flinched as he spat out these words. It did not matter that his anger was not directed at her. She was sensitive to all displays of temper, as though she had been a victim of some prolonged abuse. Barrow had no patience with this. What did _she_ know of persecution?

"I don't understand," she said mildly, and when he gave no indication of explaining further, she gave up. With a resigned sigh, she moved toward the house.

Barrow turned away from her, exhaling a stream of smoke as he did so. Of course she didn't understand. He was having difficulty coming to terms with it himself. He _was_ angry with Mr. Carson for hanging onto his job when he, Barrow, so clearly needed it.

But there was more to it. And it went back farther than Christmas and the announcement of the engagement between Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes. It went back almost a decade to that sickeningly sweet romance between Mr. Bates and Anna. The man was a crippled, insolent, arrogant bastard and Anna, of all people - Barrow didn't much like her, but he knew how attractive she was to others - had fallen in love with him. And Bates with Anna, too. And everyone had cheered them on, and prayed for them in their many trials and tribulations, and celebrated their reprieves. They were the darling couple of Downton Abbey. Barrow had only to think of the joy that had erupted earlier this year when Anna had been cleared of all complicity in the murder of Lord Gillingham's valet. Everyone was one their side. Everyone admired them for their devotion and love.

Everyone except Barrow, who had never resented anyone more than he did John Bates.

Until, that is, Mr. Carson had turned traitor.

How could Baxter possibly understand? No one who did not share Barrow's nature could hope to do so. It _wasn't_ about Mr. Carson not leaving his job to get married that festered in Barrow's soul. It was the fact that the butler was getting married at all.

In doing so he was breaking the code. Barrow was not one of Mr. Carson's greatest admirers. There could never be warmth between them when the man harboured such controlled disgust for Barrow's nature. It wasn't open hostility. Mr. Carson tolerated him, better than many would in like circumstances. But he would never accept. So there was no love lost there.

But the old man _had_ been a model, even if Barrow did not explicitly identify him as such. For almost all of Barrow's professional life, Mr. Carson had shown him how it was possible to live as a single man in a world where the prevailing trend was toward marriage, and to do so in a socially acceptable and personally satisfying way. He had forged a career, risen to a position of authority, and gained the respect and often the affection of those who knew him, and appeared happy with his lot in life. Frankly, Barrow had always wanted more, hoping against hope for a loving relationship in the manner of those contented couples with whom society was so oppressively populated. But he'd always held the example of Mr. Carson in reserve. Failing a conventional 'happily ever after' - and Barrow knew that such conventionality would never fall to him - he could aspire at least to contentment.

But now it turned out that Mr. Carson had been living a lie, that he had not, in fact, been satisfied with the course his life had taken, with the half-life he'd had. When the opportunity arose to join the 'normal' multitudes, he had quickly seized it. Mr. Carson wasn't even settling for warm companionship to see him comfortably into his old age, which might also have been forgiven. No, he'd found real love and was about to embark on the adventure of wedded bliss, beginning with that quintessential expression of heterosexual felicity - a honeymoon. *****

Barrow was bitter indeed.

And his bitterness was compounded by another revelation that he almost dared not admit to himself, let alone to Miss Baxter or anyone else because it saddened him beyond all telling. He wasn't just angry with Mr. Carson. He was jealous of him.

 ***A/N1.** It might be anticipating a little for someone of Mr. Barrow's age to use the term "heterosexual," but, according to the _Merriam-Webster_ , the term was first known to have been used in 1892. If there's a more appropriate contemporary term, I'm open to suggestions.

 **NOTE:** The contours of this chapter and of Barrow's intellectual and emotional contortions emerged from an exchange on the subject of Barrow's reaction to the Carson-Hughes marriage with _lemacd_. Thanks for helping me to develop the idea.


	9. Chapter 9: The Honour

**GETTING MARRIED**

 **Chapter 9 The Honour**

 **DISCLAIMER:** I do not own, nor do I in any way profit from the use of, the characters, settings, implied plot lines, or ideas, drawn from _Downton Abbey_. These belong to Julian Fellowes.

 **A Surprise, Not a Secret**

The Bateses liked to sit up for a bit at night when they got home. It wasn't a very practical thing to do, not when they worked such long days. But it helped them to feel that their cottage was more than a place where they slept, that it was their home and their refuge from the cares of Downton Abbey. Not that they were very successful in leaving those cares behind them. As different as they were in background and temperament, they shared an overweening sense of responsibility for the family members for whom they worked, and for almost everyone else besides.

"You're brooding tonight," Anna said, as she snuggled in beside her husband on the sofa, relishing the comfort of the powerful arm he immediately wound around her.

"I'm thinking," he corrected her. "There's a difference."

"Other people think," she persisted. "You brood. You don't just turn things over in your mind. You study them and worry them to a frazzle. That's brooding."

He gave her a sceptical look. "Then you're a brooder, too," he countered. "I've never seen anyone take someone else's concerns to heart the way you do."

"That's empathy." She was enjoying this word tussle with him. "Why don't you tell me what's on your mind?"

"And then you'll confess those secrets you've been keeping from me?"

She made an exasperated sound and poked him lightly in the ribs. "I will not. Now, tell me what you're thinking about."

He looked at her for a long moment, at her impudent little grin and her sparkling green eyes. They had been a very long time getting to this point of peace and contentment in their lives. She still wasn't well and truly contented, not while they remained childless. But he was, though she didn't believe him. There'd been too many obstacles in his life, too many wrong turns and near misses. He hadn't always been capable of contentment, but he was now. He'd learned, the hard way, to count his blessings.

"I've been thinking about the family's involvement in the wedding," he said, giving in a little. "They seem to be making quite a lot of fuss about Mr. Carson, and not so much about Mrs. Hughes. Why do you think that is?"

Anna frowned at him a little, almost as though she thought he was a little thick. "Mr. Carson and His Lordship are very close. You know that. And Mr. Carson and Lady Mary are even closer, and everyone knows that. What do you mean?"

"Only that Mrs. Hughes has worked at Downton for decades, too. Perhaps not as long as Mr. Carson, but long enough. It seems a little unbalanced to me."

Anna shrugged. "Lady Mary says that Mr. Carson is _theirs_ , and Mrs. Hughes is downstairs." She grimaced a little at her husband's expression. "Well, that _is_ what she says. And while Mr. Carson isn't exactly upstairs, he's not really downstairs either. While Mrs. Hughes is certainly downstairs. That's why His Lordship is going to be the best man and the downstairs women are going to have a party for Mrs. Hughes."

"Hmm."

John Bates was a man of few words at the best of times, so Anna had become an adept at parsing the fragments of speech he provided. "What are you thinking?" she demanded suspiciously.

He smiled at her. "Nothing."

She was not convinced and pulled away from him that she might sit up and look into his eyes, eyes now dancing with mischief.

"John! You said no more secrets!"

But he only maintained his enigmatic demeanour. "It isn't a secret," he said. "It's a surprise. And you'll have to wait and see."

She threw herself at him in an amused irritation and he obligingly wrapped his arms around her.

 **A Privilege and an Honour**

He really wasn't one to go interfering in other people's lives and yet here he was, knocking on another door, preparing to do just that.

Mrs. Hughes sat at her desk, deep in the morning's correspondence. Her work had always absorbed her, but for the past few weeks, she'd been finding herself distracted. She knew from conversations with Mr. Carson that he was experiencing the same thing. It amused her a little that this agitated him. Mrs. Hughes was more accepting. They were, both of them, getting excited about their wedding, and these feelings were spilling over into other aspects of their lives. She had decided to enjoy the moment, confident that things would settle down again once they'd returned from their wedding trip. They would not be the same, but they would settle. Mr. Carson coped less effectively with the temporary tumult.

When she looked up to see Mr. Bates at her door, Mrs. Hughes was surprised, expecting to see Mr. Carson instead, but she was not disappointed. She welcomed him in and gestured for him to sit at her small table, getting up to join him there.

He closed the door before sitting down. It occurred to Mrs. Hughes that Mr. Bates was a man of many closed doors, he of the shuttered past and masked thoughts. Had he loved Anna less, his heart would have remained a mystery as well, but even he could not manage that. He'd also been one for secrets and Mrs. Hughes had been privy to one or two of them. But so far as she knew he had nothing to conceal at the moment, and so she could not explain his discretion. It did not occur to her that this irregular encounter might have something to do with her, rather than him.

"The house is full of wedding talk," he said, "upstairs and down."

"Far too much of it," Mrs. Hughes agreed, with a touch of asperity. "Upstairs _and_ down." She liked the idea of a party because, contrary to impressions fostered by her position of authority, she liked a good time. But as much as she was looking forward to the wedding, she wasn't very comfortable with the idea of being the centre of attention. This was quite possibly the _one_ thing that didn't bother Mr. Carson in the least. It appeared that his time on the halls had been good for something after all.

Bates only grinned at her words, recognizing bluster when he heard it. "Things appear to be running smoothly," he remarked.

She rolled her eyes. "Well, I wouldn't say that either. But the complications are, at least, becoming fewer."

"Weddings, formal weddings anyway, are not my strength. Both of mine were Registry Office affairs."

"I begin to see the virtue of the simpler approach," Mrs. Hughes said, although her bantering tone suggested otherwise.

"I know how things work, though," Bates went on. "That there are certain...elements that must be present. A best man, for instance."

She smiled. "I want to thank you for that, Mr. Bates. Between you and His Lordship, you got Mr. Carson to act, where I had failed completely."

He nodded in acknowledgment. "I had only to appeal to his commitment to doing things properly."

They shared a knowing look.

"Yes. That usually works."

Mr. Bates paused for a moment and Mrs. Hughes did not rush to fill the silence. He had come to see her for a reason and, whatever it was, she was content to let him get to it in his own time.

"My conversation with Mr. Carson got to me to thinking," he said, speaking in that deliberate way he had. "It occurred me to that there is a ...symmetry about a wedding - bride and groom, downstairs and upstairs, a place for everyone and everyone in his place."

This seemed a rather obscure digression to Mrs. Hughes, especially from Mr. Bates who she had always found so forthright. "I'm afraid I'm not quite following you," she said, her brow furrowing in slight bewilderment.

He rested his arm on the table and held his head high, his expression solemn but not without warmth. "I want to ask a favour of you, Mrs. Hughes," he said earnestly.

At her almost imperceptible nod of encouragement, he went on. "I am hoping that you might permit me to demonstrate my regard for you and for your position in our downstairs family by doing me the honour of allowing me to give you away in marriage."

His request was, by some accounts, both revolutionary and presumptuous. John Bates was not one to get involved in the personal affairs of another, and that he was seeking to do so here seemed out of character. With regard to Mrs. Hughes, their formal relationship within the hierarchical structure of service made this, at first glance, an inappropriate imposition. But beneath the surface of their day-to-day interaction in the servants' hall of Downton Abbey was a closer association that dispelled these initial assumptions.

They had not taken to each other immediately. As with most relationships, they had to grow into it. He had resisted it, as he resisted almost all personal connections. One of the things he liked about her was that she had resisted it, too. Neither of them gave their friendship easily.

But she'd won his respect early on when he'd made that futile and, in retrospect, stupid effort to "fix" his limp. He wasn't vain, but his lameness troubled him on his own account and in how it marred the way others looked at him. The brace caused excruciating pain and Mrs. Hughes had noticed, and inquired, and eventually put her foot down. And she hadn't pitied him. Instead, she'd offered him encouragement and perspective. " _We all carry scars, Mr. Bates, inside and out, and we must all put up with them as best we can_ ," she'd said. " _You're no different to the rest of us. Remember that_." And he had. *****

He came to admire her level-headedness in other circumstances. They both observed how Thomas Barrow, then the senior footman, belittled and bullied William Mason. Bates had responded viscerally to Barrow's tormenting of the junior footman. He berated Thomas for it and then, one night, slammed him against the wall in a threatening way. It had been satisfying in the moment, but Barrow had more resilience than Bates had given him credit for and only smirked. And carried on. Mrs. Hughes took a different approach. Bates overheard her encouraging William to stand up for himself and to realize that Thomas's behaviour stemmed from a deep sense of inferiority. Bates had grudgingly to admit that helping William to stand on his own two feet trumped a protective intervention on his behalf. William wouldn't always have a Bates around to defend him.

And yet Mrs. Hughes was also scrupulously fair, a trait Bates admired because he shared it. They neither of them liked Thomas Barrow. But Mrs. Hughes was incensed by that incident with Jimmy Kent that threatened to see Barrow let go without a reference. She'd prised the story out of a reluctant Thomas and then spoken to Mr. Carson about it. Her efforts failed, but she'd made it possible for Bates to take action when his own sense of fair play was activated. He also liked the fact that Mrs. Hughes was as indifferent to Thomas's nature as he was, and as committed to the amelioration of an injustice.

And then there was Anna. The two women were very fond of each other. In the family dynamic of the downstairs at Downton Abbey, a mother-daughter relationship had developed between them. This alone would have won for Mrs. Hughes Bates's allegiance, had he not already been an admirer. She offered Anna stalwart support in the most trying of times - during his trial and false imprisonment for murder. Bates had never held her part in those events against Mrs. Hughes. He could never resent someone for telling the truth.

The housekeeper had proved herself again in the assault on Anna by Lord Gillingham's valet. Bates knew that he had put Mrs. Hughes in an impossible position over that. He was grateful to her both for keeping Anna's secret and also giving way to his pressure to reveal it. In doing so, she had protected Anna and then given him the means to help heal her.

Overall Bates felt that Mrs. Hughes was on his side and that meant something to a man like him. And that was only his part of the story. Mrs. Hughes was also the cornerstone of their downstairs family. They all looked to her for comfort, and as a confidant, and as a mediating force with Mr. Carson. Bates admired her for the way she mixed an unqualified respect for Mr. Carson with a commitment to fairness and compassion that sometimes set her at odds with the butler. They all owed her, the downstairs staff, and this was their moment to show it. His ties were the strongest. Knowing this, he felt the call of honour, grounded in a genuine affection, in making this request of her.

Mr. Bates wanted to give her away in marriage.

Mr. Bates's request stunned Mrs. Hughes as something that had never crossed her mind. She knew as well as he or anyone else did the components of a formal wedding. And when she had urged Mr. Carson to settle the matter of the best man, she had been a little unsettled by this lack of - as Mr. Bates had so aptly put it - _symmetry_ on her part. But unlike Mr. Carson, she had no obvious options, and so had put it out of her mind as something she could do nothing about.

And now there was Mr. Bates's offer before her.

She liked John Bates, liked him as a co-worker, and liked him very much as a man. She _had_ been sceptical at first, swayed in the moment by his physical disability which too easily blinded observers to the strengths and virtues that lay within. But she'd been easily won over, following Anna's lead, and became, in short order, the valet's strongest advocate at Downton.

Mrs. Hughes respected his professional behaviour. He knew his business and did his work well. He treated everyone with consideration, as polite to Daisy and William as he was to His Lordship. And he put up with a lot from the co-conspirators Thomas Barrow and Sarah O'Brien, Her Ladyship's longstanding lady's maid. His conduct in the underground war between them was exemplary - he never complained, he fought his own battles, and he never told tales, as he proved in the incidents of the stolen snuff box and the wine. Mrs. Hughes admired his style. There were not many like John Bates.

But the episode with the leg brace won her over completely. Everyone concealed their vulnerabilities. Mrs. Hughes did so herself. The exposure of his weakness, which was painful both physically and emotionally, showed her the man within well before she saw him through Anna's eyes, and she liked what she saw.

She esteemed him as well for his intolerance of injustice. He had no reason or obligation to come to Thomas Barrow's aid in that incident with Jimmy Kent. Indeed, Mr. Barrow's departure would have brought a measure of relief to Bates, to whom Barrow had given no quarter. But like her, he could not stand by and watch as a man lost his career and his reputation over a trifle. Mrs. Hughes had been frustrated in her own efforts to save Thomas, but Mr. Bates, once apprised by her of the situation, had found a way - she didn't know how - and Barrow was saved. She was, incidentally, impressed by Mr. Bates's complacency in the matter of Thomas's nature. They were both, she and Mr. Bates, of the school of thought that preached live and let live.

And then there was his love for Anna. Mrs. Hughes loved Anna and Anna loved Mr. Bates, a simple equation in securing the housekeeper's affections, had she not already been predisposed in his favour by the time their relationship blossomed. She watched their love grow and was happy for both of them.

The episode with the valet - that terrible, evil incident - had, in Mrs. Hughes's view, put Mr. Bates's strengths and vulnerabilities on parade. She didn't like how he pushed her into breaking Anna's confidence, although she _had_ believed he had the right to know and had told Anna so. The depths of his anguish moved her. She saw it in his eyes, in his whole demeanour, as she told him the story, and she heard it in the heart-rending sobs that overtook him in the passage outside her door.

He had alarmed her with the malevolence he conveyed to her toward the insidious valet and she worried that he would be driven to revenge. But when she thought he had killed the man, she was ready to stand by him, to the point of concealing evidence, unwilling to condemn a man who would avenge his wife. Then she was even more impressed that he had not done so, admiring his forbearance on the grounds that he would not risk Anna's emotional well-being by putting her through all that again.

Having, as she thought, no other recourse, she had intended to walk down the aisle alone and rationalized it on the grounds that, at her age, she did not need giving away. There would be the flower girls, of course, but she believed she had the wherewithal to flout tradition and would have done it. But now there was Mr. Bates's proposal.

His words brought tears to her eyes, a manifestation of that heightened emotional state that was distracting her from her work and weakening all her carefully constructed personal barriers. In making the offer, he was doing _her_ a favour, and yet he had, in a gentlemanlike manner, framed it as an honour she might bestow upon him. His gentle reference to their downstairs family warmed her heart. And she saw, as he did, the compelling symmetry with regards to the wedding ceremony itself, and more importantly still of all having their place in the proceedings. And now that it was put to her, she realized that she did want Mr. Bates in his place.

"Mr. Bates," she said, in a voice full of emotion and yet clear for all that, "there is no one I would be prouder to have stand up with me than you."

It occurred to neither of them that as a man with a limp he might somehow mar the visual perfection of that critical part of the wedding journey. They were who they were and both of them were proud of that and of each other, too.

Bates's solemn expression, appropriate to the moment of the question asked and answered, gave way to a little grin. "Thank you," he said, persisting in the interpretation that would have her confer this honour upon him. "If I could impose on you in one regard in this," he went on.

Mrs. Hughes only smiled at him. At this point there was nothing she would deny him.

"If we might keep this a secret until the day itself," he said. "Only I'd like to surprise Anna."

Mrs. Hughes understood. The anomaly of John Bates putting himself forward for such a public role and for someone of whom the two Bateses were so fond, would delight Anna.

"Oh, I think we could manage it," Mrs. Hughes agreed.

And they both laughed.

 ***A/N1.** The italicized text is taken _verbatim_ from Season One, Episode 3.


	10. Chapter 10: The Way Things Are

**GETTING MARRIED**

 **Chapter 10 The Way Things Are**

It was getting to be a rare evening when they were all at home for dinner, what with Edith's frequent trips to London to deal with her magazine or, more accurately, her editor. Tonight, in addition to the immediate family, the Dowager was there and Isobel had come along, too. Robert chose to join the women as they withdrew to the drawing room, not anxious to spend an hour alone just for the sake of doing so, although a roomful of women could be a little trying. He enjoyed his wife, daughters, mother, and in-law, but he knew he would be grateful enough when either of the girls married and brought another man into the circle. He'd been missing Tom quite a bit lately.

Carson and Molesley saw them settled with their drinks and then retired to the servants' hall for dinner. As the door closed upon them, Robert turned to his wife.

"You remember, darling, that I won't be here on Thursday night. I'm going to take Carson out for dinner in York."

This surprised Edith. "Is this your idea of a stag party, Papa?" she asked with a smile.

"I am the best man," he said smoothly. "It's my job, isn't it?" He took a seat beside Cora on the sofa. "We're going to have a nice dinner in a quiet place. A distraction for him. He can get a little tense when it comes to grand events and he's at the centre of this one."

"And how does Carson feel about this?" Cora asked mischievously, already having an inkling of the answer.

Robert shrugged. "Of course, he's resisting. I've had to twist his arm."

"Well, you can have him for the evening," Mary said, "but he's mine for the afternoon."

"What's this about?" the Dowager asked, wading into the conversation.

" _I_ should have stood up with him," Mary said, more to stir the pot than anything else. "Papa stole the role of best man out from under me."

"He asked _me_ ," Robert said insistently, although he smiled. He knew what Mary was up to.

"I'm sure there was coercion." Mary turned to her grandmother. "I want to have my own pre-wedding moment with Carson," she explained. "I don't think I'll have such easy access to him once he's married."

Robert and Cora exchanged amused glances at Mary's almost wistful remark.

"I'm sure he'll always have time for you," Edith said, without rancor. She'd made her peace with Carson, if not Mary, on this. "Are you going to give him the benefit of your experience?" she asked idly, giving Mary a meaningful look.

Mary stared at her sister for a moment. "As much as I think he can manage," she said in a deadpan voice.

"You have a lovely relationship with Carson," Isobel remarked, either missing or deliberately ignoring this ribald exchange. "Matthew said you spent quite a bit of time with him when you were a child."

"I did." The pressures of the agent's job wore on Mary and she was even more inclined than usual these days to impatience and irritation. But this topic evoked a warm smile from her. "I went down to the butler's pantry at every opportunity. Carson was my refuge from nanny. And then from our governesses." Mary shuddered, largely for effect, at the memory of the series of formidable women who had served in the latter capacity. Even as a child, few people had cowed Mary, but she maintained a particular horror of governesses.

This insight into the lives of the upper echelon elicited a raised eyebrow from Isobel, who would never understand this proclivity for distancing oneself from one's children. Matthew had been her son. She had raised him. It was far too important a business to be left to strangers, in her view.

"Did you know how much time Mary spent downstairs with Carson?" Edith asked this of her parents. They had never spoken of the subject before.

"Of course," Cora said easily.

Edith frowned. "Well,...where was I? I _never_ went downstairs!"

"You were upstairs playing with your dolls," Mary said acidly. "Or doing whatever you were told." Mary's tone managed to imply that there was something wrong with both of these things.

"I'm sure that if you'd ventured downstairs, Carson would have enjoyed your company, too," Isobel said soothingly, trying to mend one of Edith's lifelong wounds with a few words.

They all turned to stare at her as if she'd uttered a particularly heinous blasphemy and Isobel wondered what she could have said to have united the Crawleys so effectively.

Violet broke the awkward moment with a peal of laughter. "Oh, no. I think not."

Perhaps a little peeved by the truth of this, which she herself acknowledged, Edith re-directed the conversation.

"Papa is taking Carson out on the town and Mary is spending the afternoon with him. Why all this fuss over Carson and nothing for Mrs. Hughes?"

There was another slightly awkward silence, although Robert and Mary seemed impervious to it.

"I'm the best man," Robert said, extricating himself from any liability.

Mary was more direct. "That's the way things are," she said coolly. "Carson is ours. Mrs. Hughes is theirs. She isn't our responsibility." And that was an accurate summation of the matter as she saw it. It was a perspective consistent with Mary's actions. She did not see her contribution to the wedding dress as a gesture to Mrs. Hughes, but rather as part of her overall affection for Carson.

"Well, that's not fair." Edith had no great vested interest in this question. She did not have, as she had already indicated, any special considerations downstairs. But she persisted at least in part because doing so might irritate Mary.

But Mary was not so easily drawn. She shook her head and picked up one of the papers still lying on the coffee table. Quite deliberately she avoided last month's copy of _The Sketch_ that Cora had brought down.

The burden of Edith's question fell on Cora. "I understand that the female staff are having a bit of a party for her that evening," Cora said. "That's why we're all going out."

Edith had not, to this point, given the impending wedding any thought beyond marking the date in her calendar, but now that her curiosity was aroused, she pursued it with the tenacity of a terrier, oblivious to the discomfort it might cause. "And that's it? Don't you think that we ought to be part of that celebration for the bride?"

"It will only make them all uncomfortable," Cora said, but shifted uneasily all the same. The lack of a personal contribution to Mrs. Hughes's day had been on her mind.

Edith sighed. "Ah! The excuse we always use to avoid doing what is right."

"You're welcome to join them," Mary countered, with a touch of asperity. "Just don't expect to see me there."

Her sister only rolled her eyes and forbore to point out that while Papa's planned excursion with Carson was actually focused on Carson and addressing his potential nervousness, Mary's desire to spend time with the butler on the eve of his wedding was little more than self-indulgence.

"This is hardly a scene I could ever have imagined when I first came to Downton," Isobel remarked to Violet.

"What do you mean?"

"The excitement you all have and the interest you're taking in a wedding between two servants."

Violet smiled humourlessly. "I see. You equate service to the aristocracy with slavery, and do not allow for the existence of natural affection among individuals who spend so much time together."

Isobel thought about it. "Well, I wouldn't have said 'slavery' but yes, I am surprised at the depth of affection on display here."

Violet sighed. She thought of her efforts to spare Molesley and William Mason military service during the war, her interposition with Mr. Travis so that William and Daisy might marry, her advice to a guilt-stricken Daisy on the nature of the kitchen maid's love for William, her attempt to "sell" Molesley to Lady Shackleton as a butler, her financial contribution to Molesley's welfare when he was at his lowest point, her intervention to see Ethel Parks properly placed, not to mention her endless prayers for the Bateses in their many trials and tribulations, and, of course, her endless confidences with Carson over matters large and small over several decades' association. All of this made her wonder at the class blindness of an indignant middle-class reformer. It was all very reminiscent of Lloyd George.

"Because you think _us_ heartless," she concluded, "not the servants, of course."

"I'm only glad to have been proven wrong," Isobel declared, with one of her disarming smiles. "What do you _really_ think of Carson and Mrs. Hughes marrying?"

The Dowager glared at her friend. "Why do you keep asking me that question? You seem to think I change my mind as often as I change my clothes."

Isobel only stared expectantly at her, widening her eyes as a prompt.

"I am happy for them both and wish them well," Violet said, enunciating each word crisply so that the other woman could be in no doubt of her meaning.

"And you're not dismayed at this flouting of tradition?"

"Oh, that's a long lost battle," Violet said abruptly, gesturing impatiently. "No, indeed, that's the least of my worries now. Only..." She looked with some curiosity and no little concern at Isobel, "what is it that _you're_ really on about?"

Isobel stared right back at her, as if to call her bluff, but in the end dropped her eyes first. "Carson and Mrs. Hughes," she said quietly. "A sunset romance. It might have been one of us."

Violet was taken aback a second time. "Sunset? Carson is a good many years younger than me, my dear, and Mrs. Hughes younger still. Theirs is more of a tea-time romance, if you ask me."

"Late in life," Isobel amended, with a trace of exasperation. "All I'm saying is that it might have been one of _us_."

A wan smile creased the Dowager's face. "You, perhaps. Prince Kuragin was never in the cards for me, not then, not now, and I am not unhappy with the way my life has turned out." She felt it necessary to reiterate this point, and then moved on to the heart of Isobel's concerns as she saw them.

"You haven't reconciled yourself to a life without Lord Merton, then."

Predictably Isobel flared with indignation at this. "I have. It's only that...I wish I hadn't. That is, I wish things had worked out differently. But they haven't." She sighed. "And that is what makes me wistful when thinking about Carson and Mrs. Hughes."


	11. Chapter 11: The Ties of Family

**GETTING MARRIED**

 **Chapter 11 The Ties of Family**

 **Still Your Sister**

Mrs. Hughes used her bedroom for sleeping and changing her clothes and little else. Occasionally, very occasionally, she tried to read a book after she'd gotten into bed, but as much as she enjoyed a good novel, reading usually led to sleep. She didn't know why she had a small writing table and chair in the corner of the room, given that she had a perfectly serviceable desk and more space in her sitting room below stairs, not to mention better lighting for correspondence. But she did know. In her letter-writing, as in almost everything else, Mrs. Hughes liked to separate her personal and professional lives and, however limited the former might be, she still preferred to accord it its own physical space.

She had sat at this desk to write letters to her mother, while her mother still lived. In more recent years, she had made out the monthly cheques to St. John's House and Refuge for the Mentally Deficient in Lytham St. Anne's for Becky's care. And she penned what letters she wrote to Becky herself from this small sanctuary as well.

She had two letters to write tonight and had excused herself from Mr. Carson's invitation for a sherry to do so. He'd been disappointed. It was their last opportunity to engage in this long-standing ritual as Mr. Carson the butler and Mrs. Hughes the housekeeper. Tomorrow night, as tradition - and superstition - demanded, they would not see each other at all, conventional wisdom holding that it was unlucky for a groom to set eyes on his bride the night before the wedding. She did not hold with such things, but Mr. Carson did, and they each had special arrangements that did not involve the other in any case. And then, the day after tomorrow, they would be married. They might still have a sherry together in the evening, as husband and wife, but there would no longer be restrictions on where and for how long they might be together. They could as easily have their drink in their own cottage before retiring - together - to their bedroom. _Their bedroom_. The thought sent a thrilled shiver up Mrs. Hughes's spine and she quite determinedly turned her attention to the task at hand and the letters that had caused her to put Mr. Carson off.

The first was the easier of the two, a formal notice informing the administration of St. John's House of the impending change in her personal status and that correspondence from her would henceforth bear the signature _Mrs. Charles Carson_.

She dwelt for a moment on how the nuns who ran St. John's House might receive the news. She had fancied, over the years, that she and the Sisters shared a bit of a bond in their celibate lives devoted to service, albeit to different masters. They had little enough in common otherwise. But now she was breaking faith with them. She thought they wouldn't really mind.

She also attached a cheque to the letter and paused for a moment over her name. _Elsie Hughes_. That was a more sobering consideration. She wanted to become Mrs. Charles Carson, with everything that entailed, but surrendering Elsie Hughes was still a bit of a challenge. That was who she was. And more, from now on the cheques would be drawn on a joint account that she would share with Mr. Carson and his money would help pay the costs, lessening her financial burden even as it imposed something of a personal one. In marrying her, Mr. Carson was taking on Becky as well. He did so with his eyes wide open and with a man's determination to attend to the needs of his family, but she chafed at the idea of placing this obligation on his shoulders, even if only in part.

The second letter was more complicated. Ever since Christmas Eve, Mrs. Hughes had been pondering how to tell her sister that she was getting married or whether to tell her at all. Becky would notice no difference, one way or the other. Mr. Carson would never become a reality to her. Although he had asked a few questions, expressed a polite interest, Mrs. Hughes was resolved to keep these aspects of her life, and these members of her family, apart.

But Becky was her sister and had as much right to know about this development in her life as anyone else did. More, in fact.

 _Dear Becky_.

Becky could read and at slightly more than a basic level. That was Mam's doing, hours and hours of painstaking work. Literacy was, in Mam's mind, a critical skill, even for someone like Becky. Even if, in itself, it did nothing for her. Becky had never needed it for a job and did not enjoy reading for pleasure. But it was a marker that other people understood. It set Becky apart as teachable - _educable_ was the word the schools used, those special schools that had begun to emerge in the late nineteenth century for people like Becky. Knowing how to read set Becky apart even now at St. John's House. Being literate secured her more respect.

Mrs. Hughes wrote to her once a month. Every letter struck that fine balance between keeping her sister up to date and falling short of overwhelming her. The letters were always brief. Too much text taxed Becky's attention span. She could read the words, but she didn't always want to make the effort. And her pride - because Becky was proud, too - led her to reject the Sisters' offers to read the letters to her. She often preferred the pictures her sister sent to her, cut-outs from discarded magazines. Becky favoured pictures of horses, flowers, and great houses. As magazines and appropriate pictures were hard to come by, they were always a particular treat.

Becky never wrote back.

 _I have some special news._

 _I am going to be married._

 _His name is Charlie Carson._

 _It will be like Mam and Dad, only it will be Elsie and Charlie_.

She was hardly thinking of Mr. Carson by his first name in her own mind, let alone calling him Charlie, but somehow she thought it was the right name to use with Becky.

 _I have worked with him here at Downton Abbey for many years._

 _Charlie is a nice man. He is handsome. He has wavy black hair and big brown eyes._

 _He is the butler here and is a very respectable man_.

She put that last line in for the Sisters. She knew that Becky would not be the only reader of this letter. It was a fact of life at St. John's House that everything that came from the outside, including personal letters and packages, were screened before delivery to the identified recipient. The Sisters claimed this was part of the careful scrutiny they provided as part of the welfare of every resident. Mrs. Hughes not convinced and she resented it.

Still, it was not as though she would be confiding in her sister about her marital apprehensions or her financial anxieties or any other personal issues anyway.

 _My name will be Mrs. Charles Carson now._

 _But I will still be Elsie to you._

 _And I will always be your sister who loves you so much._

She almost added that she would send Becky a piece of the wedding cake, but neither the promise to do so nor the cake itself would elicit the approval of the Sisters, so she forbore to do so.

That, she thought, was quite enough. She did not want to excite her sister's interest in the wedding itself, lest Becky get the notion that she was missing something and want to come. That was never going to happen and the Sisters would not thank Mrs. Hughes for the disruption even the thought of it might cause.

She signed the letter, _With love and kisses from your big sister, Elsie xxoo_.

Becky was the only person with whom she was ever so effusive.

As she sealed the letters in a single envelope, along with the cheque, it occurred to her that these were the only notices she needed to send out about her marriage. She had no friends or close relatives outside of Downton. There were a few cousins back in Scotland, but she hadn't kept in touch. Becky - or rather, reactions to Becky - had isolated her family even within kinship circles. Her mother had maintained connections because she continued to live among them. Mrs. Hughes had felt no such imperative. And she hadn't worked anywhere else in thirty years, which had taken a toll on associations she had made earlier. She supposed she might write and tell Joe Burns at some point, although what would be the purpose of that except possibly to hurt him.

As she set the envelop aside for mailing tomorrow, she pondered the lonely state in which she and Mr. Carson existed, neither of them with family to speak of. She had Becky to tell her news to. He had no one at all.

 **Your Loving Son**

Mrs. Hughes had thought Mr. Carson alone in the world and she was right about it, although he did not see it quite that way.

On the ordinary occasions that he visited his parents' graves, he did so in silence. As he stood before the headstone in the church yard in Downton Village, tracing with his eyes their names etched in granite - Frank Carson, Margaret Carson ( _née_ Alderson) - he usually immersed himself in memories. Every time he came, he reached for something new, some fragment he had not focused on before, as well as a few more familiar ones, and in so doing over the years he had developed an archive of family recollections in his mind. If he had had children, he would have told them the stories of his parents and might even have written them down for future generations. In the absence of progeny, he had only himself for whom to keep these memories fresh and his mind was sufficient to that purpose.

But today was different. It was the morning - early morning - of the day before he was to be married. He had elected to rise earlier today and to come along to the church yard at this unaccustomed hour - mid-morning or early afternoon were his conventional times, when things eased up around the Abbey and he could run down to the village on business. Alone here now, without spectators to comment on his idiosyncracies, he did something he had never done before. He spoke aloud to his parents.

He wasn't one for conversations with spirits, but he did believe in the Afterlife. ( _The_ Afterlife, not _an_ afterlife.) He had no certainty of what that Afterlife would look like, whether or not the dead assumed some corporeal form, but he believed they were _somewhere_ , possibly nearby, and was confident that they would hear him somehow.

"Mum, Dad, I'm to be married tomorrow." He spoke softly but clearly, and to his surprise, did not feel a fool doing so. That suggested to him that it was the right thing to do. Nor did he question the logic that allowed for his parents to have some post-death presence and yet be in ignorance of the details of his life, as though they were confined to the limits of the church yard.

"That may surprise you," he went on. "I know it knocked the stuffing out of me. I'm still not quite sure I believe it."

"It's not what you expected for me, not what you did. But I think it's what you'd have hoped for. I'm marrying a good woman - her name is Elsie Hughes - and I'm marrying for love."

"There won't be children, of course, but I made that decision a long time ago. And it's been my experience that you don't have to _have_ children to love them and be loved by them. Lady Mary's shown me that." Lady Mary had not been born when his mother died, and his father passed on without more than a glimpse of the child, but in the bizarre logic of this conversation he assumed they knew who she was. "And...I couldn't settle for less just... _even_ to have a family."

"We won't have much time together. If I have any regrets at all, it would be that. But I'm not the same man I was ten years ago and we'll be better together for that. I'm a little less of a grump now, I think. And I know to make as much as I can with every day I do have with her. We none of us know how much time we've got, even when we're young. Look at Lady Mary and Mr. Matthew."

"I know you'd like Mrs. Hughes - Elsie - _Elsie_. I've lived in such a formal world for so long, it's difficult to get my tongue around her name. You'd both like her."

"She's got mischief in her, Mum, as you did. She's a spark." This had, on occasion, been an aspect of Mrs. Hughes that much exasperated him, but as he related it to his mother, he saw it as a virtue. "She makes me laugh as no one since you has done. She pokes fun at me, won't let me take myself too seriously. I...need that."

"And the whole downstairs revolves around her, Mum, just like our family did about you. _I'm_ in charge, but she knows everything, and they all take their troubles to her. And she steadies me, too. She's seen me through sickness and sorrow and anxiety. And she leans on me, too." He'd seen how his parents had relied on each other and wanted to assure his mother that his marriage, too, would be one of give as well as take.

"We're not the same, but we're well matched."

His eyes rested on the dates of his mother's lifespan measured in mortal years: 1837-1880. Elsie was seventeen years older than his mother had been when she died, but he couldn't help but speak as though he were a young man introducing his girl to his mother for the first time. He was new to this, never having done it before. She'd known the girls in the village for whom he'd had a passing enthusiasm as an adolescent boy, and Alice had come after her death, and he'd never gotten near even the idea of bringing her home to meet his father.

"You'd like Elsie, too, Dad She's strong. You and I, we both like strong women. And she's a hard worker, and smart, too. She's...she's the kind you can share your life with, depend on. She doesn't give her heart easily, but when she does, she loves deeply. And she loves me."

He said that last with feeling, and with a slight sense of awe. He knew she loved him. He saw it in the way she was with him. The fact of it continued to thrill him.

"Elsie doesn't talk much, Dad. Like you. But I know that's only a disguise for her great heart. Because she is kind. She treats the downstairs staff, the young and the not-so-young, with the tenderness you used to show to the horses. She knows they're all individuals, that they're special in their own ways, and she takes that into account. Sometimes I forget that."

He looked out over the church yard to the eastern horizon and the sun now rising in the full bloom of morning and knew he had to be on his way. There was so much to do today.

"I hope we'll have the sun and warmth tomorrow," he said. "For Elsie. A wedding day should be perfect for the bride."

"Lady Mary wanted our reception to be in the Great Hall, and wouldn't that have been grand! But Elsie insisted it be in the schoolhouse, wanted it to be _our_ day, and in the end I know that she was right."

"Mrs. Patmore's been in high dudgeon all week, which means the wedding breakfast will be wonderful. Her ill humour rises in direct proportion to the quality of the food she prepares. It's been a tempest in the kitchens, but it'll have been worth it." He'd had a lot more patience with Mrs. Patmore's temper these past few weeks, in part because he knew how much he and Elsie owed her, and also because he was well aware of the effort she was putting into their wedding feast.

"And...Lord Grantham's my best man, Dad! What do you think of that!"

His father had had a good working relationship with the late Earl, His Lordship's father. His Lordship had left a roomful of guests to visit his best groom on his deathbed. But they'd not been as close, could never have been as close as the current Earl of Grantham was with his butler. In this fanciful conversation, the son could not suppress the impulse to let his father know how far he had gone.

"And we'll have our own cottage on the estate after tomorrow. Well, after...our...the wedding trip." Inexplicably he felt a little self-conscious speaking of his honeymoon to his parents, even though they were dead.

And now he really had to go. "I've got everything I could ever want, Mum, Dad. But at the centre of it all is Elsie. It's beyond words, really, how I feel about her, about what a privilege it is to be marrying her. I've been blessed. And I'm grateful." He paused a moment more, remembering again how his parents were together. "Well," he said, "you know how it is."


	12. Chapter 12: The Blessing

**GETTING MARRIED**

 **DISCLAIMER:** I do not own, nor do I in any way profit from the use of, the characters, settings, implied plot lines, or ideas drawn from _Downton Abbey_. These are the property of Julian Fellowes.

 **Chapter 12 The Blessing**

Lady Mary had stopped him after breakfast.

"I know you've got a busy day ahead of you, Carson, but I was hoping you might join me for a walk this afternoon. Does your schedule permit it?" Her request was, in practical terms, only a formality. They both knew he would cancel any commitment, short of his wedding, to accommodate her.

He nodded. "Mid-afternoon has always been a flexible moment for me, my lady," he said easily. She was well aware of this. As a child, it had been her favourite time to visit the butler's pantry, knowing that he would be available to devote time exclusively to her.

As she passed on, having secured his agreement, Mary caught a silent exchange between her parents, who still sat at the breakfast table. They, too, knew what a little charade this question-and-answer had been. It was no secret to anyone that Carson would sever a limb if Lady Mary asked it of him.

They met in the Great Hall at two p.m. Lady Mary led the way to the front doors and he followed complacently. As they stepped out into the brilliant sunshine of a June afternoon and Andrew closed the doors behind them, Mary smiled up at the man beside her.

"I wanted to spend a little time with you on the eve of your wedding, Carson," she explained. "Things will be different after tomorrow." Though she believed her statement, she spoke playfully, too. Their relationship had always been an easy one, as flexible as it was possible to be within the restraints of the social system to which they both adhered.

Carson was intimately acquainted with the nuances of Lady Mary's speech, which he had studied carefully, and he beamed in response to this. But when he spoke, his tone was solemn. "Not between us, my lady."

His words brought a corresponding glow to Mary's countenance. No one offered more satisfying reassurances than Carson did and the impact of his devotion had not lessened over the years.

"Is everything ready for tomorrow?" she asked, as she led the way down one of the gravel paths that traversed the estate, this one leading in the direction of the folly. Strolling the estate was not their custom. Their natural habitat was the butler's pantry, which she had discovered as a small child and quickly learned to see as both a seat of empire and a haven. But it was a lovely day and Mary wanted this moment to be a special one, unique even in their long friendship. And she wanted to be alone with him and away from the distractions that would bedevil him in his work environs.

The butler rarely ambled the estate paths. He had known them as a boy, but not since his days as a junior footman had he had the time to take a leisurely stroll. But the novelty made no impression on him now, for his attention was focused entirely on his companion. He had not anticipated this diversion, but he reveled in it, for he valued his time with Lady Mary as much as she did his attention.

"As far as I know," he said, responding to her question. "At least, everything under _my_ control is. Although," he admitted, "that's not very much."

Mary laughed. "The wedding day belongs to the bride, Carson."

He raised his eyebrows. "So I've been told, my lady," he said mildly. Mrs. Hughes had reiterated that fact to him in the dispute over the reception location, a dispute in which Lady Mary had figured. He preferred not to revisit it.

"And Barrow has been primed for his responsibilities while you're away?" She was making casual conversation, not really that concerned with such details because she knew they were well in hand. Lady Mary was not as accomplished a pupil of Carson's character as he was of hers, but she knew enough to lead him gently to a more intimate level of interaction. All things worked more smoothly with Carson when undertaken gradually.

"As well as he can be," Carson replied. "He knows what he is about. It's never the _what_ that concerns me with Mr. Barrow, my lady," he confided earnestly, "but the _how_ and the _why_. But it is a good experience for him. I'm not often out of the way."

"Only in sickness," Mary observed. "I can't remember the last time you took a holiday."

He only shrugged. If he had not taken all the time that was his due over the years, it was in part a reflection of his enjoyment of the work. There were things that he had occasionally wanted to see and do, but the absence of someone with whom to see and do them had diminished his enthusiasm. _That_ would change after tomorrow.

"Barrow has taken an interest in Master George," Lady Mary remarked. "He's quite a hand with all the children, really. But I think George is his favourite." She smiled the satisfied smile of a mother whose child has been singled out for special treatment.

"I had noticed," Carson said circumspectly.

"Do you approve?"

A gentle smile formed on his lips. "I am in no position to object, my lady," he said, meeting her inquiring gaze.

Again Mary was reassured, and she accepted the argument implicit in his guarded response. Whatever Carson's professional reservations regarding the underbutler, he could not criticize the man for following in his footsteps where the children of the family were concerned. Mary supported George's attachment to Barrow. But she was pleased that Carson saw value in it, too.

They walked on. Mary's mind shifted to her own relationship with Carson and to recollections of the many hours they had spent together over the years.

"Do you remember the time I locked Edith in the cowsheds? The cows were all out to pasture and so were their handlers. She might have been in there for days. But you fetched her out and cleaned her up, without a scratch. She blabbed, of course. Getting us both into trouble." The memory both amused and exasperated Mary.

Carson smiled only briefly. He did not now, nor had he then, share her enthusiasm for the prank, even as he had bailed her out of trouble for it. "She was just six years old, my lady," he chided her mildly. It had never been his way to reprimand Lady Mary. His approach had always been to call her to her better nature. It did not always work and he was aware of this, too.

Mary tossed her head. "She was always a tattler, Edith. If it had been me, I'd have bided my time and plotted revenge instead of bawling to Mama and Papa."

Carson knew this impulse to be as true of the seven-year-old child who had trapped her sister in the cowsheds as it was of the fierce young woman who stood before him today. His eyes rested affectionately on her. He observed her still-potent irritation with her sister over that long-ago incident, glimpsed the impatience with which she dismissed Lady Edith's feeble efforts to combat her older sister's onslaughts, and yet saw through this brittle exterior to the heart of the little girl he loved.

"If I may say so, my lady," he said quietly, "Lady Edith has never had your spirit. No one has your spirit."

She smiled triumphantly. "She was screaming like a banshee."

"She was frightened," he reiterated.

Mary remained unimpressed. "Even _I_ wasn't born with courage, Carson. You know that better than anyone." She spun around on the path and paused to contemplate the great house that now lay some distance behind them.

"Do you remember the time you took me on a tour of the Abbey in the middle of the night?"

How could he ever forget it? In the annals of rewarding moments he had spent with Miss Mary Crawley, this was one of those he most prized. "You were having nightmares, my lady," he said.

" _And_ waking everyone up," she added. "And then one night you came and took me on a walk all over the house. It was pitch black almost everywhere, and you held a candle in one hand - a candle! my goodness, that was long ago! - and my hand in the other. And you showed me there was nothing in the shadows." She glanced at him. "It was only what Nanny had been telling me, but I _believed_ you."

Her words gave Carson a great rush of satisfaction. He had spent the years of her early childhood fostering a relationship of trust with her that had stood the test of time. In that trying moment so many years ago, he had given her empirical evidence - in the form of that midnight tour - that her fears were groundless. But she had believed him because of her profound trust in him. That this was so was one of the great successes of his life.

"Mama and Papa must have wondered if they'd ever get a full night's sleep again. Nanny was beside herself. She was certain it had something to do with what I was eating, and was taking this and then that out of my meals. Or not letting me eat past five o'clock in the evening. No doubt _hunger_ had something to do with it."

"It's only natural for a child to be afraid of the dark, my lady. Most children go through it."

"But they don't keep half the house up every night. Nothing worked. Nothing until you took a hand in it. Whatever inspired you?"

"Well, what are we all afraid of? The unknown." Carson was not a philosopher. In that instance, the answer, if not the problem itself, had seemed to him fundamentally a matter of common sense. "I thought if you saw the Abbey in the dark, and realized there was nothing lurking there in the shadows, then you might be able to let go of your fears."

"Did my parents know about it?" This information hadn't been of any consequence to the child decades earlier, but now, as a mother, she had a different perspective.

"Of course, my lady," he said emphatically. "Even the butler doesn't wander off with a child of the house in the middle of the night without permission. You had them at their wits' end."

She laughed a little at the foolishness of her own question. "You took me round all the doors and windows and showed me the great locks and bolts to convince me that even the most intrepid burglar could not get past them. And then you took me up to the attics and proved to me that no dark creature could slip in without waking up someone. It was a great relief to me to know that you were up there." Together they stared at the house for a long moment and then Mary turned to Carson with a yearning look. "I've always felt safe knowing you were there."

He felt a twinge at that for after tomorrow he would _no longer_ be there for her. She read the thought as it formed in his mind and reached out to squeeze his arm gently, her turn to reassure him.

"You've taught me well, Carson. I can fend for myself against the dark creatures of the night now." Then she pointed at one of the upper windows of the Abbey. "We looked out from there and you showed me how to find the North Star."

"Did I?" He had forgotten that. When was the last time he had looked at the stars? "Fancy my remembering that," he murmured. It was something his father had told him a long time ago, one night when he'd been allowed to stay up and help with a sick horse. They'd come out of the stable into the darkness of a moonless Yorkshire night and Frank Carson, who wasn't given to frivolous conversation, had paused to draw his son's attention to that brightest of stars. Lady Mary was the only person to whom Carson had ever been able to impart this nugget of wisdom.

"Well."

"And then," she continued, in a more dramatic tone, as if saving the best for last, "we ended up in the kitchen and you fixed me a late-night sandwich. I don't remember what it was exactly. I only know that it was one of the most delicious things I ever ate. I think because it was one of the most enjoyable times I'd ever had." Her shining eyes met his. "It was the perfect end to a magical night."

He did not remember what he had given her. He _did_ recall, however, some sharp words the next morning from Mrs. Yardley about elves in her kitchen.

"And you had no more nightmares," he concluded.

"And I had no more nightmares," she affirmed.

They walked on in silence for a moment, each cherishing the memory.

The folly was a useless structure that broke the skyline vista as residents of the Abbey looked north. It was an attractive one, as such buildings went, and had drawn the girls and their friends as children, if only as somewhere to flee their governess of the moment, but seldom otherwise had seen much activity. In later years it also served as a useful point to walk to and from as a private or intimate conversation unfolded. Having reached the stone structure, Lady Mary and Carson stood on its foundation for a few minutes, staring back at the Abbey. It was a view that enchanted them both.

"Do you remember the atlas you kept in the pantry?" Mary said suddenly.

Of course he did. He still had it. "We took many a voyage together, my lady," he said quietly, thinking back to how they had traced Marco Polo's trek to China and Magellan's circumnavigation of the globe on those pages.

"You showed me where South Africa was, and when His Lordship went away to war, we tracked the progress of his regiment together."

"Did we." He had forgotten that, but it came back now that she mentioned it.

"You used to read me articles from the papers about the war. I learned about the _Black Week_ , and the siege of exotic sounding places like Mafeking, and about the Boer surrender at Pretoria. I don't recall everything, of course. But you helped me to understand what His Lordship was doing."

He was surprised that she recollected anything and was more than perturbed that he had told her so much. He had tried to put Lord Salisbury's South African venture out of his mind as something that had offered no glory and a great deal of grief to Britain. His Lordship himself hardly ever spoke of it, though he served for two years there. One of the terrible facts of that terrible war that was burned into Carson's brain was the carnage in horses, some 300,000 having died carrying the British Army to battle. It would have reduced his father to tears to have known how the animals suffered. And though Carson did not have the same attachment to horses that his father had had, it was a thought upon which he did not like to dwell.

"I...should have exercised greater discretion," he said, wondering what possessed him to recount such horrific battles or to have read graphic or controversial articles on the subject from _The Times_ or _The Guardian_ to a little girl. Mrs. Dakin, the woman who had preceded Mrs. Hughes in the post of housekeeper, had occasionally questioned his forthrightness with the child, but he had ignored her.

"Nonsense!" Mary declared, waving away his belated apprehensions. "I wanted to know where my father was and what he was doing. My mother and grandmother persisted in telling us that he was _away_ and would _come back soon_. It was frighteningly vague. You told me the truth, Carson. That always meant something to me."

Well, that meant something to him, too. He had never believed in telling lies to children, or anyone else, no matter what the rationalization. In retrospect, he might, perhaps, have been a little less zealous with the truth. It occurred to him that her nightmares might have been of his making.

They began the return trek to the Abbey.

"I learned much more from you about the important things - what was going on in the world, things about my country - than I ever did from the governess," Mary said, and was unable to stifle her exasperation at that.

"I doubt that, my lady," Carson said modestly, although he believed governesses to have been the least successful of staff members and he'd never met one he liked. That he might have absorbed this opinion through the jaded conduit of an adolescent Lady Mary was not something that crossed his mind.

"It's the truth," Mary insisted, "although it's not much of a compliment given how little they imparted. I don't even speak French very well and that was their primary function. Don't mistake me, Carson. I've always understood that it was my duty to marry in a manner so as to bring honour to my family and to produce an heir to inherit my husband's wealth and title. But I could never see why I couldn't have something of substance to think about _while_ I was doing it."

They both laughed at that.

As they came abreast of the house, Mary's pace deliberately slowed and Carson automatically slowed with her. He watched as a thoughtful look came over her and she turned to him almost hesitantly. When she focused her wide-eyed gaze upon him, his heart fluttered, as it had done ever since the first time he had met those compelling eyes thirty-two years earlier.

"You've always been so kind to me, Carson."

Lady Mary had no need to resort to effusion to strain the sinews of his heart.

"It was never kindness, my lady," he said solemnly, staring at her. "It was only..." _love_. But he couldn't possibly say it. It exceeded the bounds of proper behaviour.

She was staring right back at him and her eyes misted over. She nodded gently and favoured him with one of her very rare, genuinely warm smiles.

"When I came downstairs on the morning of my wedding to Mr. Crawley, you were there to give me away," she said, and had to pause for a few seconds to steady her voice. "I won't see you tomorrow morning. Papa will keep you well away." This elicited almost a giggle from her and brought an indulgent smile to his face. "I'm letting go of you now, as once you let go of me, and with all the best wishes for your happiness that you bestowed on me that day."

Like His Lordship and His Lordship's butler, Lady Mary was an advocate of emotional reserve, seeing it as a manifestation of strength and of Englishness, which to her mind were almost synonymous. She had absorbed the principle in equal measure from both men. And like them, in moments of great feeling, she elected to speak, as she did now, more with her eloquent and expressive eyes than with potentially traitorous words. But it wasn't quite enough. Abruptly she leaned up to him and kissed his cheek.

And as abruptly, she pulled back. "Now," she said briskly, looking away and struggling to re-impose her controlled demeanour, "I really must let you get on." And she turned away and disappeared quickly into the house.

He was not at all put off by this precipitous conclusion to their pleasant excursion. Her departure saved him from an emotional outburst of his own. For a long moment, he stood without moving before the closed door, breathing deeply, blinking back tears of paternal pride, and trying to restore the internal equilibrium Lady Mary had melted with her words, and look, and gesture.

He was grateful to her for the walk, the reminiscences, the affection, and the kiss. And for her discernment in speaking to him so intimately today. He loved Lady Mary and her attentions meant so much to him. He would see her tomorrow and receive her good wishes in a more formal way then, which was how it should be. For tomorrow his great reservoir of emotional energies would be focused on Mrs. Hughes - on _Elsie_ \- and he wanted no distractions.

It would have been wholly appropriate for him to use the front door, but Carson chose not to follow Lady Mary into the Great Hall. Instead, he took the longer way round the house, heading for the coal yard door, giving himself just that much more time to regain the requisite propriety of the butler of Downton Abbey.


	13. Chapter 13: The Regret

**GETTING MARRIED**

 **DISCLAIMER:** I do not own, nor do I profit in any way from the use of, the characters, settings, suggested plot lines, or ideas drawn from _Downton Abbey_. It all belongs to Julian Fellowes.

 **Chapter 13 The Regret***

Mrs. Hughes stood in the middle of her office, looking around. Nothing would change here. Tomorrow, as she spoke her wedding vows, it would be exactly the same and a week from tomorrow, when they returned from their...honeymoon...it would be the same still. She told herself that she would be the same, too. She was only getting married, not having a personality transformation like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Now, there was another one of her awkward allusions. Well, never mind that. The point was that she would be the same person.

But it _was_ a momentous event in her life and she would _not_ be exactly the same. For one thing, from about ten o'clock tomorrow morning she would be Mrs. Charles Carson, from then until death did them part, and ever afterward besides. And she could not deny that the honeymoon would change her, too. After six decades of a solitary existence, she was to be joined with another human being, legally, spiritually, and physically, and that had to have some kind of an impact. The first two were probably the more important in the long run, but the last would make for the greatest immediate change. She would look at things - she would certainly look at Mr. Carson - differently after that. A little thrill ran through her at the thought. She was pleased that it was a sense of elation, not dread.

As much as that kept drawing her attention, she was distracted by a few more concrete considerations. It seemed she'd spent the last few months thinking of nothing but this wedding. And yet now that it was upon her she worried that she had not given it all the attention it deserved. So here she was, on the eve of the event, fretting about it. She was startled from her reveries by a quiet knock at the door and looked up to find Mr. Carson stepping into the room and closing the door behind him.

He felt the same sense of excitement and anticipation that came over him before every great event at Downton, only magnified a dozen-fold. He had never been at the centre of things before - ever the director, never the performer. And...he relished it. As much as he abhorred the thought of his dance hall past, he had enjoyed it in the moment and the most appealing aspect had always been the exhilaration - and the challenge - of holding the audience's attention. He conceded that the bride was really the star of any wedding, but a few eyes would turn on him, too, and he was ready for it.

In this moment of heightened feeling, he wanted to see Mrs. Hughes, sought her company knowing that merely being in her presence would temper the giddiness he felt. But he did not want only to experience her steadying influence. This was about _them_ , as she had so rightly pointed out, and he wanted to share with her the emotions stirring in him and to know hers in return. This was what it was about, marriage - becoming one. And that did not mean the absorption of one into the other, a diminishing of the weaker in the face of the stronger, of the woman into the man, but rather the blossoming of something infinitely greater. They would be _more_ , with each other, not _less_.

He was having a full day, notwithstanding Mr. Barrow's assumption of some of his usual duties, on top of the diligent oversight the underbutler was giving to the organizational details of the following day. Despite himself, Carson was impressed with the man. He had seldom seen Barrow so committed. He was grateful for this, as he had things to do - extraordinary things associated with the wedding - and then there were the unexpected moments like his walk with Lady Mary.

But it was Mrs. Hughes's company he craved. The fact that they would be together for the next week and have more time together - alone - than they had ever had did not diminish his desire - his _need_ \- to see her right now. So he went to her sitting room.

She seemed distracted, and then flustered at his appearance, as though he did not often visit her here. But then, these were special circumstances and, he realized, she was caught up in the same whirlwind as he. And he gave way to his own excitement and stood there, clasping and unclasping his hands in nervous agitation. When he caught himself at it, he stopped and then could only hold his hands awkwardly still and wonder, in passing, what he usually did with his limbs.

" _I...uh...just want to make sure everything is under control_." He ought to have managed to say something sweet, something reflecting the emotional character of the events in which they were enveloped. But all he could do was to fall back on his usual concern - organization.**

She gave him a quick smile and responded in kind. They were, neither of them, accustomed to expressing their emotions to each other, and were both in the grip of wholly novel sensations.

" _I think so_ ," she said, her voice sounding much calmer than she felt. " _Mr. Brook's bringing the flowers and the foliage in the morning. And Mrs. Patmore's on top of things_."

He realized that now he was swinging his arms back and forth in that artificially hearty manner of one of those unlettered village youths awkwardly sparking a local girl. He pressed one fist into the other hand in yet another attempt to quell these outward signs of inner delirium.

" _Are you nervous_?" he asked, exposing his own heightened feeling in a slightly higher pitch to his usually unruffled baritone.

" _A little_ ," Mrs. Hughes admitted, and then sighed. " _And I'm sad about my dress,"_ she said, a little mournfully. " _I wish I'd made more of an effort, but it's too late now._ "

And this was the truth of it. She might have been more nervous about other aspects of the wedding, but the dress had taken control of her mind and regret over it had been growing in her all day. Mrs. Patmore had had a point and she, in her pride, or frugality, or whatever it was, had made a mistake. She'd let those feelings obstruct her appreciation for Mrs. Patmore's good sense and helpful hint about ordering a dress from a catalogue, claiming that in doing so she was staying true to her own nature. Now she could see that she simply hadn't been thinking straight.

Clinging to her resolve about the brown day dress had _not_ been an accurate reflection of her nature. She liked pretty things, too. And Mr. Carson would expect her to have made an effort. He'd probably been polishing his shoes for a week. She owed him at least as much consideration. And then she'd been so sensitive about how he would view her and yet had set herself - and him - up for failure by not attending to this as she should have.

She could tell, looking at him - at that face, and those eyes that communicated his feelings so clearly to her - that he was excited. Not anxious, but _excited_. He was happy. He might be nervous, but it was a joyful anticipation, not the sense of regret that was sweeping over her. He'd prepared properly, in that exacting way he had, and he could indulge himself now in pleasurable exhilaration.

He did not know what to make of her wistful tone. It wasn't regret or reluctance about the marriage, not at this stage. They'd surmounted that challenge and there was not a fragment of doubt in him about her love and desire for him. But there was something. He could only respond to the cues she gave him.

" _I'm sure you'll look wonderful_ ," he said, his great eyes brimming with the adoration that filled his heart. He said the words automatically, thinking that brides liked to be told that they were beautiful on their wedding day. And he said it with confidence and sincerity. But in his mind it was a superfluous, for she looked wonderful to him right now. To him she was innately beautiful and it did not matter to him what it was she was wearing. He wished he had the words to say that to her more directly.

She felt her heart constrict. He was going to be so disappointed in her. " _Well, I'll look tidy,_ " she said, grasping at the shreds of her pride.

" _What about tonight?_ " he said. " _We mustn't see each other tonight._ "

This brought a smile to her face, despite her inner turmoil. It was so like him to embrace superstitious ritual. Her pragmatic mind was less consumed with the need to make such observances, although she had no difficulty indulging him and entering into the spirit of them herself.

"Well, you'll be out, and I'm going to have a quiet evening in here with Anna, Mrs. Patmore, Miss Baxter, and Daisy. They'll check the stairs before I go up to make sure we don't meet."

He exhaled in relief. He was a passionate adherent of rules and regulations and even the slight, and sometimes silly, conventions of wedding practice were encompassed by this compulsion. And he was slightly...well, if not superstitious, then at least cautious. When it came to his marriage and his life with Mrs. Hughes, he wanted to do everything right. They didn't have the time to make mistakes.

They had exhausted the practical considerations that might concern them and still he did not want to go.

"I just...wanted to see you," he said simply, and then stared at her, drinking in the radiant vision of her, filling himself up so as to sustain him until tomorrow morning. When he turned away from her now, he would not see her again until they stood together in the church, and that seemed an aching eternity away. "I'm so looking forward to marrying you," he added, his tone hushed, as if in awe of the very idea.

She stood very still for a moment, just looking at him. He was a lovely man. Oh, she knew he wasn't perfect, but he was, too, in all the things that counted to her. She made a shooing gesture with her hands. "Oh, go away with you, Mr. Carson, before you make me cry!" She spoke sharply and a frown creased her face, but he saw the glistening of gathering tears in her sparkling eyes and he smiled and did as she bid him. He went away with his heart full.

Closing the door behind him, she slumped against it. She was looking forward to marrying him, too. It was the novelty of the thing that was overwhelming her. She'd never done this before and she had wanted to get it right. But she'd spent her energies in some arenas, as in the struggle over the reception venue, and overlooked the more personal element of her dress.

It _was_ too late now. It wouldn't be the end of the world, of course. Mr. Carson would love her anyway. And she knew she would get over her own regret. Eventually.

 **A/N1.** Mr. Fellowes left us with very little here. I couldn't do much with it, but I couldn't quite see leaving it out.

 **A/N2.** The italicized portions are dialogue drawn _verbatim_ from Season 6, Episode 3.


	14. Chapter 14: The Last Minute Details

**GETTING MARRIED**

 **Chapter 14 The Last Minute Details**

 **Gown and Dress**

Anna felt as though she had been transported into a tale of intrigue, making an assignation of sorts with Mr. Carson on the servants' stairs at the junction where they divided to go up separately to the men's and women's quarters. It was broad daylight and late-afternoon, an awkward moment for intrigue, but perfectly suited to the business they had to conduct, which was Anna's delivery to him of the gift he had asked her to arrange for Mrs. Hughes.

"Thank you for taking this on for me, Anna," he said, with heartfelt gratitude. "I should never have gotten there on my own."

"I was glad to do it, Mr. Carson," she said, handing him a cloth bag with the package inside. "I've wrapped it, but you can easily undo the ribbon and take a peek. It'll be easy enough for you to tie up again."

He tried to maintain his composure. He'd gone ahead and involved Anna in this intimate matter, and been relieved that their conversation about it had been less awkward than he'd expected, but this was still a discreet matter. He _was_ curious and he _did_ want to see it, but he rather wished she had not anticipated his interest. It suggested an element of vulgarity on his part and he recoiled from it.

"I should only make a mess of your work," he said, waving away her words.

She smiled warmly at him. "It's quite pretty, Mr. Carson. Mrs. Hughes will love it."

He took it away with him to place with the things he had already laid out for the week away. It was his plan to pack his case after returning from the dinner with His Lordship, thinking perhaps he might be awake well into the night and this would give him something to do.

Anna watched him walk away and then descended the stairs to the door leading onto the gallery, meaning to sort out Lady Mary's clothes for the evening. She was glad to catch Miss Baxter at the door to Her Ladyship's room. At her salutation, Miss Baxter paused in the half-open door.

Anna's face was alight with excitement and just a little apprehension. "I haven't had the opportunity to speak with you in days," Anna declared, and then added, in a hushed tone, "Have you finished the dress?"

It did not often happen that Miss Baxter looked confident about anything, but this was an exceptional moment. "I have!" she said excitedly, and did not drop her voice as Anna had. "And it's beautiful! It was a pleasure to work with such lovely material!"

They both giggled.

"She knows nought about it," Anna said, although Miss Baxter knew this well enough. "And she's fretting a bit, so I'm glad that we're giving it to her tonight. I know she'll sleep better for it."

"Then we must give it to her first thing," Miss Baxter said firmly. "There's no reason to prolong her worries."

Anna agreed and, with the flash of a conspiratorial smirk, she moved off down the gallery. She was excited for Mrs. Hughes. The wedding was, of course, a thrilling event, as it was for any woman. But Anna knew that the small moments would stay with Mrs. Hughes, too. She would love the dress, but would cherish the thoughtfulness of the friends who had given it to her. And in the end, Anna herself had been satisfied with the arrangements. Lady Mary might have made it possible, but the four of them - Anna, Mrs. Patmore, Miss Baxter, and Daisy, too - had given all they could, in the manner of the poor widow, and were she ever to know about the nature of their respective contributions - and she would not - Mrs. Hughes would treasure the dress all the more. *****

And then there was Mr. Carson's gift. The nightgown was very pretty and Anna, who knew better than Mr. Carson the sombre nature of Mrs. Hughes's nightclothes, was delighted that she should have something so nice. But no enthusiasm for a material item would match the profound pleasure Mrs. Hughes would feel at the simple fact of her husband's thoughtfulness. Anna, who already held the butler in high esteem, was all the more impressed with him for it.

 **Her Ladyship's Contribution**

Still smiling to herself, Miss Baxter entered the bedroom.

"My lady! I didn't know you were up already." Miss Baxter hastened forward. The women of the family were dining at Travers Hill that evening and were making an early departure. But Her Ladyship had anticipated even that.

Cora waved away Baxter's concerns. "I've come up prematurely. I hope I haven't inconvenienced you."

"Oh, no, my lady. Everything is in order."

As the lady's maid turned to her work, Cora gazed at her fondly. They had not known each other long enough to have developed a close relationship, but Cora liked Baxter very much. Baxter was quiet and self-effacing and almost too willing to accept responsibility for things beyond her control - a female version of Molesley, almost - but she was kind, polite, and thoughtful, as well as skilled in all aspects of her work. Cora was not at all surprised that Baxter had her evening clothes set out and the various accoutrements already to hand.

"I couldn't help but overhear your conversation with Anna," Cora said after a while. "Am I correct in concluding that you are making a wedding dress for Mrs. Hughes."

Miss Baxter nodded.

"That's kind of you." Her Ladyship spoke with feeling.

"Well," Miss Baxter shrugged, "it _is_ Mrs. Hughes."

This succinct statement, which echoed what Mrs. Patmore had said, told Cora much about the regard for the housekeeper below stairs. The warm expression on Baxter's face and the enthusiasm in her voice in the exchange with Anna made clear that for Baxter the connection was almost as personal as it had been for the cook.

"What's it like?" Cora asked, not bothering to disguise her interest. She loved weddings, in all their glorious detail, and here, finally, was someone who might give her an insider's glimpse.

Miss Baxter seldom had the opportunity to extol her own virtues and was even less inclined to it when chance actually offered to do so. But Her Ladyship's question allowed her to focus on the dress, rather than on her own prominent role in its creation, and she was able to draw a full picture, to Cora's delighted satisfaction.

"It's a lovely colour, my lady. The pale mauve will set off Mrs. Hughes's eyes to perfection."

"It's a generous gift from the downstairs women," Cora observed. Every Christmas she presented the women members of staff with a piece of fabric sufficient to make a dress and a little extra besides, so she knew something of what a nice piece of cloth might cost.

"We all chipped in, my lady." Miss Baxter also knew what material cost, but it was her nature to accept things as they were presented to her, and she had not asked any questions.

"I wonder."

"My lady?"

Cora turned in her chair, disrupting Baxter's efforts to do her hair. "His Lordship and Lady Mary have been bending over backwards to make this a special occasion for Carson. As they should and as he deserves. But...I'd like to make some kind of gesture to Mrs. Hughes."

That Her Ladyship felt such an impulse, which Miss Baxter readily recognized as genuine, puzzled the lady's maid. She knew from Mrs. Patmore that the sumptuous wedding breakfast was to be charged to the house and that the flowers for the church and the reception hall were coming from the Abbey's gardens and greenhouses. To her mind, this seemed already manifest generosity on the family's part.

"Something from me," Cora added, as if discerning Baxter's thoughts. "Do you think a dress coat would be appropriate? I mean, I wouldn't want to take away from your fine work or detract from your own gift to Mrs. Hughes."

But Miss Baxter's face had lit up at the suggestion. "I know the one you mean, my lady."

At Cora's nod, Baxter went to the wardrobe and drew out an embroidered dress coat of a dark shade of mauve and held it up for Her Ladyship's consideration.

"That's it!" Cora said excitedly. "What do you think?"

Miss Baxter cradled the finely crafted coat gently in her arms. "The dress _is_ pretty, my lady, but it's...understated. We didn't want to overwhelm Mrs. Hughes. This coat would enhance it nicely."

A gleeful look swept Cora's face. "Then Mrs. Hughes shall have it."

"Only, my lady, you're taller than Mrs. Hughes. I'll have to take it up a little, which I'm happy to do tonight, but..."

Cora understood. "It shall be a gift to her, Baxter. Make whatever adjustments you need to make permanent."

Miss Baxter lay the coat out carefully on the bed, looked at it for a long moment, and then returned her attentions to Her Ladyship.

"You're very kind, my lady."

Cora sighed. "Not at all," she said emphatically. "I just want...you know, to let Mrs. Hughes know that she is as valued a member of this household as Carson is."

"I'm sure she knows it, my lady."

As Miss Baxter was putting the finishing touches on her evening dress, Cora returned to the subject. "You're having a party for Mrs. Hughes this evening," she said.

"Yes, my lady. Anna, Mrs. Patmore, Daisy, and I. We wanted to give her a proper send-off." Miss Baxter said this proudly. It her many years in service, she had never worked with such a pleasant group. And though she was a new-comer in their ranks, they had made her welcome. She was pleased to be accorded a place in such an intimate gathering.

"That's lovely," Cora said, with a smile. "I hope you'll all enjoy your evening. "

"Thank you, my lady. I'm sure we will."

 **An Upstairs Acknowledgment**

The car was drawn up by the door and Cora and Mary stood ready to depart. Robert came out of the library to see them off.

"Give my regards to Lady Travers," he said, kissing his wife.

"I'm going to enjoy explaining to her that you couldn't come because you're dining out with your butler," Cora said with a grin.

"I'll put it to her in blunt terms if she objects," Mary said grimly, looking like she hoped the opportunity might arise.

Robert laughed. "There'll be no need for that. Old Lord Travers was devoted to his man. They say he was never the same after his life-long butler died."

"Where is Edith, anyway?" Mary demanded, looking around. "Ever since this London life started with her, she's been late for everything."

Edith flew down the stairs as if prompted by Mary's words. "I'll be with you in a few minutes," she called, darting across the Great Hall away from them. "Wait for me."

Mary growled impatiently. "I'm waiting in the car," she said crossly and went out.

Cora and Robert looked in one direction and then the other after their errant daughters and then laughed.

"Where is Carson, by the way?" Cora asked.

Robert smiled indulgently. "He's in the library. We'll leave as soon as you're off. Do you know, I think he's more agitated by the prospect of dinner with me than he is about the wedding tomorrow."

Cora shrugged. "And you expected any differently? Just make sure he doesn't see Mrs. Hughes."

This invocation of superstition had Robert rolling her eyes, but Cora slapped his arm lightly. "We're only one for three when it comes to successful weddings in this house, Robert. Let's even the score with this one."

Edith darted downstairs as quickly as her evening dress would allow. Modern clothing permitted women to move more fluidly, but they still did not enjoy the freedom men had. At the bottom of the stairs, she drew herself up more sedately, prompted by the habit of behaving more decorously in front of the servants and also because, suddenly, she was a little hesitant.

It was her intention to speak with Mrs. Hughes and she knew it was the right thing to do. But she was uncertain here. As she had pointed out a few nights ago, unlike Mary, who had presided here at Carson's side, even if long ago, and established thereby a degree of comfort within these walls, Edith had almost never ventured below stairs in the whole course of her life. It was unfamiliar territory.

Nor did she have the human connection here that Mary had forged with Carson and that Sybil had made, to a large degree, with just about everyone. Edith had no friends below stairs. It seemed a bit awkward to pretend to one now, although that wasn't quite what she was after. She wanted only to pay her respects to the woman downstairs who contributed so much to the ease of everyone upstairs. With this in mind, she stepped up to Mrs. Hughes's sitting room door and knocked.

Mrs. Hughes was at her desk - still - and turned as Edith came into the room. Edith saw that she had been expecting someone else. In that fraction of a section she had a glimpse of the woman behind the role of housekeeper, and then it was gone as Mrs. Hughes assumed her familiar professional demeanour.

"Mrs. Hughes." Edith spoke almost breathlessly. She had taken herself by surprise with this initiative and was still working out what she would say.

"My lady." Mrs. Hughes stood up. "How may I help you?" This was the form their exchanges had always taken.

"Not at all," Edith said immediately. "That is. I didn't come with a request of any sort."

A few seconds of silence passed and then Edith gingerly moved more deeply into the room. She wanted to be here, but she did not really know _how_ to be here. "We're all going out in a minute and I understand the downstairs women are having a sort of party in your honour. I wanted to slip in...between things and...offer my very best wishes to you, Mrs. Hughes, on the eve of your wedding."

Mrs. Hughes was adept at concealing her thoughts and feelings, especially where the family were concerned, but she had less reason and less ability to do this effectively on this day. She relaxed at Lady Edith's words, smiled, and folded her hands demurely before her. "I thank you, my lady."

"Lady Mary's been making quite a fuss about Carson, and I think he's deserving of every bit of attention he gets from her..." Edith stumbled a bit over that. Even to her own ears that sounded more of a condemnation of Carson than the compliment she meant it to be,"...but to my mind, we ought to acknowledge you as well. You're as important to this house and to our family as he is." Listening to herself, Edith recoiled inwardly at her awkward speech. She was so much more eloquent on paper. Giving up on words, she gave way to a smile.

Looking at Lady Edith, Mrs. Hughes allowed herself to be touched. Lady Edith _was_ awkward in some ways, but there was a sincerity in her stilted voice, and when she smiled self-consciously and sweetly as she did now, she could be quite appealing.

Edith decided to make one more stab at it. "Enjoy your evening. And your day tomorrow. I hope that it is everything you have hoped for. I'm sure it will be simply lovely."

There was a level of emotion in Lady Edith's voice that was not perfectly congruent with the circumstances, but Mrs. Hughes thought she understood why that was. All weddings, upstairs or down, must recall for this young woman the heartbreak of that disastrous occasion when Sir Anthony Strallan had abandoned her at the altar. Perhaps her determination to overcome that disappointment had played at part in her appearance here this evening. Mrs. Hughes appreciated the effort.

"Thank you, my lady."

And that was all that Edith had to say. So she withdrew from the sitting room and made her way back to the stairs, feeling that if she had only ever made one foray to the servants' level in her life, she was glad it had been on such an occasion.

 ***A/N1.** The allusion to the poor widow is drawn from Luke 21:1-4.


	15. Chapter 15: The Bride's Night

**GETTING MARRIED**

 **DISCLAIMER:** I do not own, and do not in any way profit from the use of, the characters, settings, implied plot lines, or ideas drawn from _Downton Abbey_. These belong to Julian Fellowes.

 **WARNING:** The rating on this chapter ought, perhaps, be raised to an M, in consequence of a rather muted conversation regarding physical intimacy.

 **Chapter 15 The Bride's Night**

"What did she want?" Mrs. Patmore was standing in Mrs. Hughes's sitting room doorway only a moment after Lady Edith had departed from it.

"Tea for upstairs," Mrs. Hughes responded blandly. And, when Mrs. Patmore's face scrunched up in incomprehension, the housekeeper sighed. "What do you think? She came to wish me well."

"Really?" Mrs. Patmore glanced after Lady Edith again, finding this almost as hard to believe. She shook her head to clear it of thoughts of the family, and a bright smile swept her face. "Daisy and I are still hard at it with a few things for tomorrow, but we'll have our supper ready for seven. We'll leave the men to the servants' hall and set ourselves up at a table in Mr. Carson's pantry. It's the only room big enough. And he won't be back down here tonight."

Mrs. Hughes shifted uncertainly. "Did you ask Mr. Carson about it?"

Mrs. Patmore rolled her yes. "No. But he won't mind. Anyway, we won't touch any of his precious things and I'll make sure it's all tidied up." When that assurance failed to dispel the look of consternation on Mrs. Hughes's face, the cook added, "And if he's upset, well, then _you_ can make it up to him."

And she was gone before Mrs. Hughes could protest.

It was a novel occasion, the five of them - Mrs. Hughes, Mrs. Patmore, Anna, Miss Baxter, and Daisy - gathered together for a social occasion. The hierarchical nature of relations below stairs made for an unevenness between individuals and they'd never had an opportunity before to step outside those bounds. If the barriers did not break down completely, they at least bent for an evening.

Mrs. Hughes and Mrs. Patmore had a turbulent history between them, but had long ago resolved their conflicts and moved on to a fast friendship. Mrs. Hughes and Anna shared a more affectionate bond that echoed that of mother and daughter to some extent. Miss Baxter was an outsider, the last woman to have joined their ranks and still an unknown quantity in some ways, although it was apparent to all that her heart was in the right place. Daisy was a veteran of this company, but had rarely been admitted to inner circle as a participant and was prepared to tread carefully, lest she be banished forever. Mrs. Hughes was delighted to be with them all, as they each meant something to her in their own way.

"We'll bring the food in in a minute," Mrs. Patmore announced as they assembled at the prettily arranged table in Mr. Carson's pantry. "But first we have a gift for you, and Anna and Miss Baxter think we ought to get right to it, and I'm thinking I agree."

Mrs. Hughes responded modestly and happily, thinking it unnecessary that they should have gone to even greater lengths and pleased by their consideration.

Anna came forward with a large box wrapped in a ribbon.

"It was Anna's idea," Mrs. Patmore began.

"No, it wasn't," Anna interrupted, with a benignly reproving look at the cook. "It was yours. I just got it going."

Buoyed with excitement, Mrs. Hughes untied the ribbon and, with just a little difficulty because of her fluttering fingers, lifted the top of the box and then unfolded the tissue paper within to reveal...a dress. Her face drained of colour when she realized what it was and her smile faded as she was overcome. It _was_ a dress, a beautiful dress, of a soft mauve silk. Without conscious thought she lifted it from the box, holding it up by the shoulders, and then stared, and stared. And then she dropped it, and her hands with it, and looked around at them all. She had forgotten how to speak.

This was the last and, for the past few days, the greatest trouble on her mind regarding the wedding. She had been blue all day, the day before her wedding, with the realization of the inadequacy of her dress for the occasion. It had made her unhappy to think how she would disappoint Mr. Carson. As painful was the conviction that nothing could be done about it, not at this point. And now her friends, these dear, _dear_ women, had vanquished that sorrow and done so in a way that exceeded all her own imaginings. It was a _beautiful_ dress. Though she could say nothing, her eyes filled with eloquent tears as she looked at each of them in turn.

Anna and Mrs. Patmore, who easily read Mrs. Hughes's shock as stunned gratitude, were almost tearful themselves. Miss Baxter, who was a little less sure of herself and who did not know Mrs. Hughes so well, was relieved of her tension only when she saw Mrs. Hughes's telltale tears of joy. But Daisy could only stare at Mrs. Hughes in wide-eyed shock. She had never known the ever-level-headed housekeeper to give way to emotion in this way, and she was not certain she was prepared to see _this_ wall crumble.

Then Mrs. Hughes's paralysis dissipated and gave way to a vocal effusion as she found her voice again and told them how very much she appreciated their gift, how wonderful they were to have given it to her, and how very beautiful it was. They were all immensely gratified by her response, Miss Baxter most of all, basking in the admiration for her painstaking work.

"The stitching is a work of art!" Mrs. Hughes declared, examining the seams.

The lady's maid glowed with pride. She had seldom known such praise.

"Anna chose the material," Mrs. Patmore said, eager to give the younger woman her due, "and the two of them chose the pattern."

"We _all_ put our two pence in," Anna countered, and her eyes danced with delight watching Mrs. Hughes gently stroking the garment. This was what she had hoped for, and although keeping Mrs. Hughes in the dark about their plan had caused her some distress, Anna believed that a _fait accompli_ was the best approach in this situation. And Mrs. Hughes's reaction bore her out.

Eventually Mrs. Patmore decided they'd all fussed enough and that they'd better get to eating. They wouldn't let Mrs. Hughes help. Mrs. Patmore, Daisy, and Miss Baxter brought in the food, while Anna opened the wine. Anna had had quite a bit of practice at this during the war, when staffing shortages had required the revolutionary accommodation of having maids in the dining room. She hadn't had so many opportunities in recent years, but it wasn't something in which a proficiency once gained was ever really lost. Soon they were all enjoying a delicious multi-course repast featuring Cornish game hens.

"Goodness!" declared Mrs. Hughes. "Where did you get the time for this among all your other labours for the wedding? And what about the men?"

"Andrew, Mr. Molesley, and Mr. Barrow are enjoying a plain stew with fresh bread," Mrs. Patmore said complacently. "It's simple, but it'll keep them going. They know they'll be able to enjoy themselves tomorrow and eat well at the breakfast that Daisy and I have been sweating over, so they're not complaining. As for us, if the family hadn't gone out, I'd have been making them a delicious dinner, no matter what, so I made it for us instead." She sipped her wine and breathed a sigh of contentment. "I daresay you'll be eating very well for the next week, Mrs. Hughes, over in that fine hotel in Scarborough. Mr. Carson is dying to indulge you."

They all smiled at that, and Daisy giggled. Mrs. Hughes hadn't told anyone of His Lordship's insistence that the house pay all expenses, so no one else knew just how true Mrs. Patmore's words were.

"It must be pleasant to be marrying a man you've known for so long," Miss Baxter remarked. "There'll be no surprises."

"Oh, I wouldn't count on that," Mrs. Patmore said breezily and ignored the exasperated look Mrs. Hughes shot her way. The cook's always frank manner was now loosened even more by the wine she was enjoying. Mrs. Patmore did not often get the pleasure of a glass, or two, of wine. Even when she managed a sip here and there, she rarely got to savour it. This gathering was a treat in a number of ways.

"It's not so much of a risk," Miss Baxter clarified, with a perplexed look at Mrs. Patmore herself.

Mrs. Hughes thought she understood Miss Baxter's point. That woman had had enough surprises and taken as many risks as she could bear with men, and could appreciate that the familiarity existing between the butler and the housekeeper was likely to diminish the possibility of any unpleasant developments.

"It isn't how long you've known a man that's so important," Mrs. Hughes said sagely, "but what kind of a man he is. Mr. Carson hasn't changed, not in essentials anyway, since I first met him."

Miss Baxter seemed heartened by this, but Daisy was puzzled.

"Then why'd it take so long for you to get around to marrying him?" she asked bluntly.

"Daisy!" Anna chided her, smiling, but still a little taken aback.

The barriers _were_ down, so Mrs. Hughes chose to interpret Daisy's query lightly, rather than as an impertinence. "Mr. Carson has always moved at a glacial pace," she said. "There's nothing new in that."

Daisy subsided and sipped her wine. It was very good wine, better than any she'd ever had and, like Mrs. Patmore, she was enjoying it. The other women had curbed her boldness in words, but could not stifle her thoughts. She meditated on the idea of Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Carson marrying. To this point, she'd been rather fixed on the romance of it all, of two people deciding to marry at their ages, and how lovely the wedding was going to be. But now her mind drifted beyond that to...what?

Daisy wasn't quite the dew-eyed innocent she'd once been, with her crush on Mr. Barrow - Thomas, as he'd been then - of all people. Her marriage, a few hours only in duration, hadn't changed that much, but she'd picked up a few facts since then, if not any more experience. But her imagination couldn't - wouldn't - carry her to the idea of the bride and groom in _this_ wedding doing... _that_. Surely they were too old for it. Surely Mrs. Hughes wouldn't be quite so... _calm_ tonight knowing that that was ahead of her, if it were. Daisy took a long swallow of wine to try to clear her mind, not knowing that alcohol was more likely to inhibit that effort.

Miss Baxter was also thinking about Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes, but in a more benign way. She hardly dared admit, even to herself, her growing affection for Mr. Molesley. She wasn't anywhere near ready for a relationship, not even with him, not while she still struggled with the burdens of her past. But if she could entertain such a development, she could see herself with someone like Mr. Molesley, a quiet, gentle, modest soul like herself. Mr. Carson, she thought, was a big man, not only physically but also in terms of his presence. He occupied a room in a way Mr. Molesley, for instance, never could. The butler intimidated Miss Baxter a little. He had been scrupulously polite to her, his tone always moderate, his manners gentlemanlike. But he was formidable, all the same. It impressed Miss Baxter that Mrs. Hughes was not in the least daunted by him. Indeed, the housekeeper appeared to relish the small battles they waged with each other, whether over house issues or national politics, and she seemed to prevail in most of them. They were, Miss Baxter thought, an admirable couple.

Mrs. Patmore was, more than anything, relieved. They weren't quite to the church yet, so she was cautious enough not to dismiss the possibility of a last-minute disaster, but she was beginning to relax. "By gosh, but you've given me some sleepless nights these past few months," she said unthinkingly, only belatedly realizing she'd spoken aloud.

No one else knew of the turbulence that had affected the couple so there was no concrete understanding of what lay behind Mrs. Patmore's words. But Anna laughed at the sombreness of the cook's pronouncement. "It's the nature of the game, Mrs. Patmore. If all had gone smoothly, it wouldn't have been right."

"Possibly," Mrs. Patmore conceded grudgingly, and with a sidelong glance at Anna added, "Fortunately Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes aren't in your league when it comes to getting into trouble."

Her forthrightness elicited a reproving look from Mrs. Hughes, but only prompted Anna to more laughter. "Thank goodness!"

Daisy decided to enter the conversation again, her inhibitions lowered by the wine. "Why Scarborough?" Her question reflected only a simple curiosity. Daisy had never been ten miles from Downton, except to London - which had never meant more than shifting from the kitchen at the Abbey to the one in Grantham House - and to Brighton, on that day of the staff holiday there two years earlier.

Mrs. Hughes shrugged. "It's a nice, quiet town, and we like the sea."

"Going to walk in the waves and hold hands?" Daisy ventured more boldly, alluding to that trip to Brighton when Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes had done just that, the first public intimation that there was something more between them than conventional collegiality. The memory of the senior staff members engaged in such a human and personal moment brought a fond smile to Daisy's face. It had been a pleasant day all around, what with Mr. Ethan Slade's invitation to her to come to America as Lady Grantham's brother's cook. Although she had declined the offer the American valet had extended to her, the remembrance made her feel warm, as compliments usually did, and this gave her perception of what had occurred between Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes a particularly favourable interpretation.

"We might," Mrs. Hughes said enigmatically.

"The family are being awfully generous," Daisy went on. Once unbound, she plowed ahead. "A whole week away. They must like you a lot." It was an observation that was self-evident to the others present.

Although Daisy was pushing boundaries, Mrs. Hughes was not in a mood to take offense. "It's really about Mr. Carson," she said. "He's worked at Downton for half a century and His Lordship has known him all his life." If Daisy thought the concession of a holiday was generous, Mrs. Hughes mused to herself, she would have been flattened to know the real extent of their consideration.

"It's not so, Mrs. Hughes. You're every bit as important to them as Mr. Carson."

They all looked with surprise at Miss Baxter, the author of this statement. She was the least likely among them to make such a declaration, knowing the family for a much shorter time than any of the rest.

But Miss Baxter only smiled. "I have something else for you," she said, getting up to bring another large box to the table.

Bewildered, Mrs. Hughes opened it, while Mrs. Patmore, Anna, and Daisy looked on bemused.

"It's from Her Ladyship," Miss Baxter explained, as Mrs. Hughes drew the dress coat from the box. "She said she wanted to give you a personal gift. But she also said you should wear it or not, as you saw fit. She doesn't want to pressure you in any way like..." Miss Baxter caught herself, but not before she flashed a telling look at Anna.

"...Lady Mary," Anna finished for her, and was not at all put out. She loved Lady Mary, but that didn't mean she sided with her unquestioningly in everything or that she thought her judgment unimpeachable. While she had understood Lady Mary's motivations in insisting on a wedding reception in the Great Hall, Anna had not agreed with the idea. "I think the coat is lovely and will enhance the dress. What do you think?" she asked Mrs. Hughes.

The housekeeper was caressing the folds of the embroidered coat. It was the most exquisite piece of clothing she would ever wear, second only to the dress her friends had given her. She was touched by Her Ladyship's gesture. They didn't have much between them, she and Her Ladyship, other than the mutual respect of two women in complementary positions of authority within the same house. But Mrs. Hughes knew the other woman to have a warm heart and here was proof of it.

"I think it will be just fine," she said, characteristically resorting to understatement.

"I'll have to make some adjustments," Miss Baxter said. "Her Ladyship is taller than you. In fact, it might be an idea if you tried on the dress, too, just so I can make sure everything is perfect."

"Can we see you all dressed up?" Daisy asked, brightening at the prospect.

"No." Mrs. Patmore said this and her tone had a note of finality to it. "You can do that upstairs," she directed Miss Baxter and Mrs. Hughes, "where you should be going," she added pointedly to the latter.

"It's rather early." Mrs. Hughes resisted direction from anyone in matters of her own freedom of action. They were not bristling at each other, but there was just a hint in this exchange of the friction that had once existed between them.

"You'll need your sleep," Mrs. Patmore said flatly, another one of her disconcertingly ambivalent statements. It was neutral enough on the surface - it would, indeed, be a big day tomorrow for the housekeeper, with an early start and a great deal of excitement - but Mrs. Hughes couldn't help but hear in Mrs. Patmore's words a faint inflection of innuendo.

Miss Baxter responded to the cook's direction with alacrity, being more inclined to obey orders and also far less willing to challenge Mrs. Patmore on anything. She carefully folded dress and coat and replaced them in their boxes. "I'll meet you upstairs," she said to Mrs. Hughes, as she gathered up the boxes.

Mrs. Hughes said that she would be up _shortly_ , both a concession to Mrs. Patmore's instruction and a defiance of it. Before they broke up though, Mrs. Hughes thanked them all again.

"You're all very kind and dear to have made such a fuss over me, and I appreciate every bit of it, and thank you for it. I'll be grateful to the end of my days for the dress, and you should all take pride in it tomorrow. And I thank you for this dinner and the breakfast tomorrow, as well. No one is poor who has such friends."

Miss Baxter went ahead upstairs and Anna and Daisy began to clear. Mrs. Patmore lingered at the housekeeper's side.

"Are you all right, then? Really?" There was a rare note of tenderness in her voice, evidence of her great consideration for the other woman. Mrs. Patmore knew whereof she spoke in this.

A renewed wave of warmth and affection for this woman, even with her sharp edges, flooded Mrs. Hughes. "I am," she said simply. "I love the dress. I don't have words to thank you for it, Mrs. Patmore."

"That's from all of us," Mrs. Patmore reiterated, and then looked a little disconsolate. "I would've liked to have given you something on my own, like Her Ladyship."

Once more a shadow of the brittleness of their old relationship briefly flared its head as Mrs. Hughes came over exasperated. "I'm only getting married tomorrow because of you, Mrs. Patmore. If you hadn't...," Mrs. Hughes did not want to speak explicitly of the cook's critical intervention, out of discretion, as well as because she did not like to dwell on that episode,"...as if that isn't enough! And...you were right about the dress." Mrs. Hughes hesitated here, only because admitting that she was in the wrong came hard to her.

Mrs. Patmore made an impatient sound. "Well, I know that." She was never shy about taking her due.

"And about Mr. Carson," Mrs. Hughes continued, bravely forging ahead. "And I still don't know how in that case."

The cook tossed her head, exasperated herself. "I've known him forever, too, and all," she said. And then she shooed Mrs. Hughes to the door. "Now, off with you. We've all got lots to do tomorrow, but I'll get to take it easy come evening, whereas you..."

"Stop that!" Mrs. Hughes scolded her, flushing a little, and beginning to reach her limits with Mrs. Patmore's bluntness.

Mrs. Patmore gave her an almost resigned look. "Oh, let me have my fun. It's a pale shadow on the pleasure you'll be having." Before Mrs. Hughes could recover from that, the cook seized an empty dish and retreated to the kitchen.

Mrs. Hughes took a deep breath to restore her equilibrium, and turned and almost collided with Daisy.

"I'm sorry, Daisy."

Daisy nodded in acknowledgment, but moved only partly out of the housekeeper's way. "I've been thinking about you and Mr. Carson," she said thoughtfully.

Mrs. Hughes did not think she really wanted to hear what Daisy had to say, not if Mrs. Patmore exercised any influence over her. But the serious look on the assistant cook's face gave Mrs. Hughes pause.

"Only I think sometimes we'll never get ahead. You know, the working class," she added, for Mrs. Hughes's benefit. "And then...this happens. I mean, you and Mr. Carson getting married, and the family approving and all. It's like a little revolution. Maybe it won't change the world, but it's a small step in _our_ world."

Mrs. Hughes chose not to challenge Daisy's characterization of them all together as "working class," inclusion in which company might have given Mr. Carson a mild heart attack. "Well, I wouldn't say our marriage was revolutionary, but I'll admit it's a development," she said circumspectly.

"It's encouraging, though, i'n' it," Daisy went on.

Though Daisy had hardly expressed herself very articulately, Mrs. Hughes thought she knew what the young woman meant. "Yes," she agreed, smiling, "it is very encouraging."

She went along to her sitting room to take one last look around, although she'd done nothing but prepare for her week-long absence all day, and to have a moment before she went upstairs. She often poked fun at Mr. Carson for anticipating the descent of chaos if he stepped out for an afternoon, but here she was wondering how the place would hold together with both her _and_ Mr. Carson away for a week. Behind her, Anna slipped in and closed the door.

Anna had enjoyed their evening together, relishing a circumstance where the downstairs women spent time together as women, rather than as workmates. But there was something else on her mind and it was something she could not say with the others present. She'd been musing on this moment for a few days, but the altered dynamic of this evening - which would revert to a more conventional form soon enough - had given her courage.

Of the five women present, only Anna had been married. Well, properly married. Daisy's marriage had lasted only six hours and William had spent that time slipping away. Marriage, Anne well knew, was much more than the physical union - _that side of things,_ as the euphemism of the day went. But in the beginning it was the part of a relationship that drew the most attention, being of a more immediate nature, and it was the primary reason for a bride and groom to get away, that they might have time to work this out between themselves.

While more than one resident at Downton, upstairs and down, had silently wondered about the nature or extent of the Carsons' intimate life in marriage, it had never occurred to Anna that it would be anything less than what she enjoyed with Mr. Bates. Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes loved each other, she was confident of that. And to her mind, intimacy at every level naturally followed. She was confident, too, that love would carry them through the intricacies of this new part of their lives, as it had her with Mr. Bates. But she did wonder how Mrs. Hughes was feeling about it.

It was too easy to assume, because of the air of nonchalance that she wore so easily, that Mrs. Hughes knew everything. And perhaps she did. But Anna thought it might be a good idea to check, just in case, and she was the only one who could do so.

Mrs. Hughes smiled benevolently as Anna moved into the room. Mr. Carson could have his Lady Mary. Mrs. Hughes knew well enough how important that young woman was to him and, though she sometimes wondered at the wisdom of his particular choice, she acknowledged the depth of his emotional attachment. It wasn't quite the same thing, in part because she and Anna had never admitted to it as openly as Mr. Carson and Lady Mary had, but there was a comparable relationship downstairs between the housekeeper and the young lady's maid. Mrs. Hughes harboured a maternal outlook where Anna was concerned, and felt her sorrows and joys more intensely than she did those of anyone else amongst the younger staff. She might be very fond of the others, but she loved Anna.

"Are you all set, then?" Anna asked.

"I am now," Mrs. Hughes replied. "I can't tell you how happy I am about the dress. It's been bothering me terribly the last few days."

Anna had thought as much and was pleased to have been able to relieve the older woman of this burden. In most circumstances, Anna would have seen the necessity for absolute truth, but in this matter she had a clear conscience. She agreed with Lady Mary that any awareness of upstairs involvement in this matter would diminish, if only slightly, Mrs. Hughes's enjoyment of the gift. Only Anna and Lady Mary would ever know of it, and they both knew that the other could, and would, keep a secret.

"It _is_ beautiful," Anna said agreeably. "I can hardly wait to see you in it." She paused, took a step closer to the housekeeper, and then came to the point. There was no advantage to be had in beating around the bush. "I was wondering... Is there... Would you like to talk about anything?" Anna did not want to come across as intrusive or crass. Her motives were, as her motives almost always were, entirely pure. What good was it being close to someone, to another woman, if you were not able to share confidences about things that were on your mind? Especially about things as critical as this.

Anna's heart was an open book that was easily read by those who knew her well, and Mrs. Hughes had perused these pages often. She realized that Anna was trying to be sensitive, as well as discreet, helpful without being interfering. And it occurred to her, for the first time, that the whole misunderstanding with Mr. Carson over the nature of their marriage might have been more effectively handled had she sought out Anna's advice in the matter. But then, as now, Mrs. Hughes could not quite manage the reversal of roles that would have her seeking counsel on marital relations from the woman who occupied in her life the role of a daughter.

Her smile broadened. "You're more uncomfortable asking that question than I am answering it," she said serenely, although it wasn't really true. Or, more accurately, she was not as tranquil about the subject as her manner suggested. "I know you're trying to be kind," she added quickly, so that Anna's feelings might not be hurt by this reaction. "Let me say that I know what it's all about, if that's what's worrying you, and I thank you for your concern. I know that _theory_ isn't the same as _reality_ , but I'm sure we'll muddle through well enough anyway."

Anna had not been sure of the situation before she'd spoken, and Mrs. Hughes's response did not convince her one way or the other. It was so like Mrs. Hughes to be fundamentally pragmatic, to admit to a level of both knowledge and ignorance, and then skillfully deter a further exploration of either. And to fend off an opportunity for greater intimacy between them in casually rejecting this overture. Her guardedness might have put off another, but Anna thought this situation too important, for Mrs. Hughes's future happiness, to yield completely, and so abruptly changed tactics.

She exhaled in relief. "Then you're well ahead of me when I married Mr. Bates," she declared. "I was eager, and excited, but _so_ nervous, besides. I mean, I'd never _been_ with a man before, obviously, or been... _seen_ , and I...wondered how he'd look at me. And I was shy with him." She was gushing a little, playing the role of the almost-still-blushing bride confessing her uncertainties and embarrassment to an older, experienced woman, the role in which she had cast Mrs. Hughes for the purpose of this little drama. "I didn't know...how it would be, and...well, he did, which helped a lot." Although she thought Mr. Carson something of a paragon of virtue, which was not, in this matter at least, quite what she would have said of Mr. Bates before she had met him, Anna also saw the butler fundamentally as a man and so assumed experience there without question. "But... even then, I didn't know it would hurt, at first, and that there wasn't really much he could do that about that. And I thought it was supposed to be perfect right from the beginning, and only realized as we went along, that it really was something we had to grow into together, notwithstanding his experience. And," she finished awkwardly, "we did. It's time we spent learning that has made it so wonderful." She was smiling, perhaps too much, and then she did feel uncomfortable.

"Well," she said abruptly, and aware that she was blushing and that Mrs. Hughes was rather too quiet, "I've said far too much. I should go."

But she did not move toward the door. Instead, impulse made her move more closely to the housekeeper. "I'll see you in the morning, but I did want to say that I'm so very happy for you, Mrs. Hughes. And I know you and Mr. Carson will be very happy together. He loves you so much." And then she put her arms around the other woman in a quick hug. A moment later she was out the door and gone, leaving a somewhat bemused Mrs. Hughes behind her.

It had been something of a charade, this exchange. Anna was much better at subterfuge than Mr. Carson, who was remarkably inept at it, but Mrs. Hughes understood what had just happened here and was only grateful that she had maintained her poise throughout. She had played the role Anna had handed her, however inapplicable it was. Now that she was alone again, she could admit to herself the utility of Anna's confidence.

They had both spoken truths in disguise. Anna had imparted some useful insights, even as she perhaps exaggerated some of the facts of her own experience to do so. And Mrs. Hughes had truthfully asserted a level of theoretical knowledge, only downplaying the intensity of her emotional state at the prospect of putting that awareness into practice. Well, the journey from theory to practice would begin for her tomorrow night.

She turned out the light in her sitting room and closed the door. As she made her way up the stairs for her fitting with Miss Baxter she reflected with great happiness on this evening. These women, her co-workers and friends, had, in their individual ways, discerned the nature and depth of her apprehensions and uncertainties and worked to smooth the road ahead for her. It warmed her heart to know what their attentions said of their regard for her. She loved them all for it. They had done what they could. Responsibility for her future happiness, hers and Mr. Carson's, too, now lay in her own hands and his.


	16. Chapter 16: The Stag Party

**GETTING MARRIED**

 **Chapter 16 The "Stag Party"**

They drove to York as they would drive anywhere else, with Robert in the back and Carson in the front with the driver, and neither of them gave the arrangement any thought. Robert was bending convention by serving as his butler's best man and by having dinner with him, but these transgressions did not lead to a wholesale abandonment of the system. Carson remained ill at ease about the whole thing, but would have agreed that the outing _was_ a distraction, if not necessarily as His Lordship had meant it.

As Mr. Stark threaded the car through the streets of York, both Robert and Carson keenly studied the city for signs of the recent unrest. The General Strike had ended three weeks earlier, but the massive disruption of the nation's transportation and service networks, occasioned by the application of the most formidable tool in organized labour's arsenal, could hardly be expected to have dissipated completely. ***** And yet they saw little evidence of the strike.

"Bolsheviks!" Robert had thundered at the breakfast table, reading about the strike in the papers. It was the first time that he was glad Tom had gone to America. A sympathetic word for the strikers might have led to blows in the dining room. Carson made the same single-word declaration over the same newspaper in the servants' hall and Daisy, with a warning look from Mrs. Patmore, had the good sense not to raise a voice in protest. But the revolutionary instrument had not led to revolution itself and, after the fact, the two men pointed proudly to the resiliency of the British constitution and the parliamentary system, which contrasted favourably to the rotten autocracies of Europe that had crumbled in the revolutions of 1917-19 at the war's end.

"Things appear to have quieted down," Robert remarked, looking around as they got out of the car.

"Order has been restored," Carson intoned, echoing Robert's conclusion but with a more heavy-handed interpretation.

They were dining in the restaurant of the Royal York Hotel, the best dining establishment in the city. Robert was known there and everyone from the doorman to the maître d' greeted him with the deference he still took for granted, although its automatic observance was no longer a given. Things were changing and _not_ for the better.

Carson was caught betwixt and between on this. The hotel staff treated him with the respectful consideration accorded an associate of the Earl of Grantham and such he was from their perspective. But it took conscious effort on his part to abstain from the pedestrian niceties - taking His Lordship's hat, holding his chair for him at the table - that he performed unthinkingly on a daily basis at Downton Abbey. Navigating these unfamiliar currents impeded his enjoyment of the benefits as they extended to him.

Although their outing involved a violation of social rules, Robert had ceased to think about it. Transgressions were easier from the superior position. He wished Carson would let it go so that they could both enjoy themselves. Alcohol would help and, with that in mind, Robert ordered a bottle of Chateau Gruard Larose, confident that Carson would enjoy it. Among Robert's acquaintances, he knew few who had a better appreciation of wine than his own butler.

"Of course, I object to strikes," Robert said, "and a general strike, in particular. But one can't help thinking that the responsibility in this case lies more with the mine owners, than the mines. I blame Mr. Churchill and the Germans." He paused thoughtfully, and then added, "No, not the Germans, so much as the Americans for letting the Germans back into the international coal market. Plummeting prices and plummeting wages follow. What a surprise." ******

They perused the menu for several minutes. Carson was not a stranger to fine dining. Although downstairs seldom saw the kind of meals regularly served in the dining room of Downton Abbey, there were exceptions. When Sir Anthony Strallan abandoned Lady Edith at the altar, the entire elaborate wedding meal had to be disposed of quickly and the downstairs staff did their duty in this, even as they sympathized with Lady Edith in her distress. The family's annual migration to London for the Season provided Carson with rare, but less emotionally fraught, opportunities to savour the culinary delights of that great city on his half-days. He liked to eat well, though he did not like eating alone. But there was no alternative, as no other member of staff could have afforded the luxury and the only person he might even have wanted to while away his leisure hours with was the one who would never have agreed. Mrs. Hughes had ever been frugal. Now he knew why. And now here he was in a very good restaurant and more uncomfortable than if he had been alone, because of the social incongruity of dining with His Lordship.

"His Majesty agrees with you," Carson said, returning to the subject of the strike. "Fancy King George saying 'Try living on their wages before you judge them.'"

Robert concurred. "I think it was a dig at Churchill. I cannot countenance Mr. Baldwin appointing him Chancellor of the Exchequer, not with his dodgy past. And then approving our return to the gold standard. I mean," Robert spoke earnestly, "I would very much like to turn the clock back to the summer before the war, too, but sometimes you just _can't_ go back."

It was a remark almost as radical as the idea of a general strike and the two men stared at each other for a moment as though Robert had spoken blasphemously.

"Well. You know what I mean." Robert hastened to brush it off.

Carson moved to help him. "I believe Mr. Churchill's decision about the gold standard is widely viewed as ill-considered," he said circumspectly. "He was a curious choice for Chancellor. I just can't trust a man who keeps switching parties all over the place. Or," he added disparagingly, "anyone who has served under Mr. Lloyd George." *******

Robert nodded vigorously. "Winston Churchill is even more unreliable than ever his father was. His star is waning. When this government goes, I'm sure it'll be the end of him." ********

The political discussion and the arrival of the wine soothed Carson's sensibilities for a while. They talked desultorily of the Prince of Wales, but their conversation there was a little constricted. Robert thought the fellow a fop and Carson preferred the Duke of York, but neither wanted to express to each other their disenchantment with the heir to the throne for fear of coming across disloyal. Labour Party leader and former Prime Minister Ramsay Macdonald was a more satisfying target. They both despised him, although nothing on the scale of their mutual contempt for Lloyd George. They also wrangled a bit over what had developed into the international question of the decade - the implementation of the Treaty of Versailles - but soon abandoned it as a topic that would only irritate them.

When the talk of politics lapsed, Carson's social disquiet returned. Robert welcomed a second bottle of wine, although he was mindful of Cora's admonition, delivered at they had dressed for dinner, not to get Carson inebriated. That being the case, he decided to approach Carson's unease more directly.

"Carson, you've got that look on your face that you get when something's not right with the dinner setting. Fix it so that we can get past it."

"It's not the dinner setting," Carson responded, although he did adjust two transposed forks and then stared fixedly at Robert's place until he also addressed the error before him. "It is the anomaly of eating with you, my lord. I am sorry for it, but I don't adapt easily."

That was an understatement. Robert forbore to point out that getting married was likely to have far more impact on Carson's life in terms of the transformations it required than a single dinner that crossed class lines. He turned in another direction.

"But it's not the first time we've shared a meal."

This caught Carson up short. "My lord?"

"You don't remember."

Carson said nothing. He had no idea what Robert was talking about.

Robert smiled. "One day when we were boys. I was just six, actually. I remember because it was just before I was to start school and the prospect of going away from home for the first time frightened the life out of me. Meanwhile you were banging around the stables, impatient to be getting back to the grammar school in Ripon, and the study of Greek and Latin and whatever else. I followed you into your cottage and your mother invited me for lunch."

Carson's jaw went slack with astonishment. He did _not_ remember this.

"You don't remember, of course, because what did it mean to you? Nothing. It was so commonplace. But to me... Your mother gave us each a wedge of chicken pie and when she turned around, you picked up yours in your hand and started wolfing it down. I did the same. I'd never eaten in a cottage before. I didn't know - maybe that's how it was done there. And then your mother caught us at it and scolded us both, you in particular, naturally, for setting a bad example and putting on such a bad show in front of 'my lord.'" The memory had Robert laughing.

The prospect of having corrupted a youthful Robert Crawley horrified Carson less than the idea that he had once done something so uncouth.

Robert could see how Carson recoiled at the tale, but this did not put him off at all. "She made us take up our forks and eat the rest of it properly. And then she gave us a large slice of delicious apple pie apiece and ordered us to behave ourselves. And _you_...," Robert could hardly speak coherently now for the hilarity of the incident, "you ostentatiously cut your pie in half, managed to get one big chunk onto a fork, and then stuffed it into your mouth! I thought Mrs. Carson was going to box your ears for that, but she just burst out laughing! And you did, too, spewing little bits of pie everywhere!" Robert had to contain his mirth even now, the dining room of the Royal York hardly the appropriate place for such an outburst. Indeed, if he'd erupted into such an explosion of amusement even in his own dining room, his family might have looked askance. "I laughed _so_ hard that I fell out of my chair!"

It wasn't exactly the usual sort of story told at a stag party, but if the effect of such tales was to embarrass or discomfit the groom, then it achieved its effect nonetheless. Carson could not have been more disapproving if Robert had related a risque anecdote to a room full of drunken witnesses.

"I don't remember that," Carson said stiffly, and so faintly that Robert hardly heard him.

"You were fourteen, Carson." Robert reminded him, shaking his head at the man's determination to hold himself to an exacting standard, even retroactively. But he was pleased to hear the note of censure in the other's voice. So it _was_ possible to jar the butler from his deferential demeanour with the right provocation. "You were having a laugh with your mother," he added, charmed by this recollection of mother and son.

"I didn't get away from Nanny often," Robert mused, "but when I did, I always went to the kitchen or the stables. Mrs. Yardley would let me have a taste of anything that was going to be part of upstairs dinner, which was always a treat. Nanny was such a stickler for bland food for children. But I liked the stables even better. You were always there, with your father." His tone turned a little wistful.

"That's why I went there. To see _my_ father. I envied you, you know, your easy access to your parents. One doesn't want them around all the time, of course, but... I knew, I think, from a very early age, that the way to my father's heart was through riding."

Carson appreciated the shift in the conversation away from his behaviour. He was more comfortable attending to His Lordship's moods that reliving his own past. "His Lordship was _very_ proud of you, my lord," he said quickly. He meant _loved you very much_ , but could not presume such a personal level.

Robert understood the message, being an able practitioner of indirect speech himself. "I know," he said simply. "But we never spent as much time together as I might have liked. That wasn't his way."

Thinking of how things were with his father led Robert to thoughts of his relationship with his own children, and to a subject closer to Carson's heart.

"Was Lady Mary on her best behaviour this afternoon?" Robert asked, just slightly mischievously.

Carson brightened. "Lady Mary is never otherwise," he intoned, not willing to admit that the eldest of the Crawley girls was anything less than perfect.

Robert smiled at Carson's resolute loyalty. "Now, we both know that isn't so, Carson."

"We reminisced a bit," Carson admitted cautiously, and despite himself a gentle smile edged its way onto his face. Did he ever think about Lady Mary with anything other than pride and affection?

Robert noticed and was pleased. He had always found it heart-warming that Carson had such an affection for Lady Mary. Playfully he tried to rattle it. "Did she recall the time she broke one of the crystal goblets while playing with it and you took responsibility for it?"

"It _was_ my responsibility, my lord," Carson said immediately, loyal to Lady Mary's childhood transgressions even at this late date. "I had given her to believe that she might handle such items."

"She took your keys and opened the cupboard herself, without your permission or your supervision," Robert corrected him. "As she told us herself when she saw how displeased we were with you over its loss. A broken goblet was as nothing compared to Lady Mary's refusal to let you take responsibility for a misdeed of her own." He paused thoughtfully. "You helped her to become a better person, Carson. We were grateful."

Carson acknowledged His Lordship's remarks with a nod.

"I remember when you used to let her pick the wines for dinner. Ghastly results." Robert had been amused, and relieved, to learn the cause of the mismatched wines that Carson had produced on those occasions. He had suggested to Carson that he might find some discreet way to direct Miss Mary's choices, especially if the Dowager were coming to dinner.

"She enjoyed the wine cellar, my lord," Carson said modestly.

Robert gazed at him keenly. "She enjoyed _all_ the time she spent with you. I don't know how you put up with a child underneath your feet so much. It would've driven me bats."

"Lady Mary was never an inconvenience, my lord."

The exchange prompted Robert to a reflection of how the two of them had dealt with Mary over the years. He remembered wanting, as a young father, to play with his little girls, and to indulge them, but refraining in the awareness that both his father and mother frowned upon such behaviour. In their world, children were brought in for an hour a day, were - hopefully - in good humour, and might at that point be petted and fawned upon - in moderation - before being sent back to the nursery. It was the way Robert had been brought up.

It was hard on Cora. They did things differently in America, apparently. But she had her own challenges in that household, living under the eye of her domineering mother-in-law and ever subject to the pressures of her assigned purpose, that of producing an heir.

Robert had adhered to his father's example, in conformity with the practices of his class and of the day, but against his own better judgment. He did not often swim against the tide. _What would my father have said_? he had asked, decades later, when Cora had observed him lying on the library floor, playing a board game with their oldest grandchild.

The traditional approach left him with a very fond and affectionate but distant relationship with baby Mary, and later Edith, and by the time his father died, the pattern was set, although he managed to loosen up a bit with Sybil, who came later. Everyone around him, from his mother, to his wife, to his daughters themselves, knew him to be a loving but arm's length Papa. And he played into it, telling himself that children _did_ get underfoot and that he would be closer to them as they got older and became more companionable. And that did happen.

Even as he had seen this developing and felt himself powerless to stop it, he had observed something entirely different unfolding between Mary and Carson. Carson, who was obliged by his position to maintain a formal manner on every occasion in which he dealt directly with the family (and many where he did not), had yet been able to establish an informal and openly affectionate relationship with Mary. Robert didn't really know when it had begun, but became aware as Mary grew from baby to toddler to small child that she had a particular affinity for the butler. It wasn't that she ignored her parents. In that hour of the day when she appeared with her sisters for parental inspection, she was keen to soak up any attention they gave her and to elbow Edith out of the way. (Never Sybil. She was always gentle and indulgent in her own way with Sybil.) But she would, when Carson came in to make an announcement, run to him as well. He hardly unbent on such occasions, especially when Robert's father was still alive, but even a slight thaw in that glacial exterior was a major accomplishment and Mary seemed to understand an almost imperceptible nod from him on such occasions as a special acknowledgment.

Downstairs was different. When he was in his own element, Carson could afford to be much more open with Mary and he was. Robert learned this from Mary herself, from her tales of tea parties and card games, of long talks of far away places and of pictures in an atlas Carson apparently kept for her amusement. It was the butler who comforted her when her child's world came apart, or kissed and made better the scrapes on her hands and knees when she fell. And it was in Carson's arms she knew the uninhibited warmth of a father's love.

Robert and Cora only became overtly aware of the amount of time Mary spent downstairs in the butler's pantry when Nanny began to complain about losing Mary, by which time the child was almost five years old. Robert understood the nature of the developing relationship and approved of and accepted it. He had known the warm affection of a few servants in his own childhood - Mrs. Yardley, the cook, had indulged him, feeding him sweets and offering him refuge when he fell afoul of Nanny. Remembering those good times, he was glad that Mary had discovered this world, too.

Cora gradually came around. She had enjoyed a warmer and more direct relationship with her own parents, and was not quite as sanguine about a servant filling such a role. But she did appreciate that tensions already ran high between her older daughters, and that Edith was suffering for it. Alone with Nanny and later sharing the nursery with baby Sybil, Edith had more room to grow. And Mary did seem to benefit from the individual attention she received downstairs, although Cora thought it peculiar that her vibrant daughter should have been drawn to Carson, the very epitome of the staid servant.

To Robert this was less of a mystery. In some small, undisturbed cobweb corner of his mind, Robert knew that Carson sacrificed a great deal in personal terms for his life in service to the Earl of Grantham and to Downton Abbey. And while Robert did not challenge the way things were, he saw it as a good thing that the man might have this connection. The butler's position, celibate by convention, isolated by authority, allowed few outlets for personal feelings. Mary reaped the golden harvest of this situation in the emotional warmth and openness that Carson could show to no one else. Robert trusted the man with his home, and his family, and most especially his daughter. He did not begrudge or resent the fact that Carson provided her with the emotional parenting that he himself could not offer. Instead it pleased him that he might share his child in this way with a man he liked and respected, and whose well-being meant something more to him than just whether he was capable of performing his official duties. And hadn't Mary blossomed under this paternal partnership?

As they spoke of Lady Mary, Robert watched the tension that had gripped Carson for much of the evening ebb away. She had always been the middle ground between them, the only place where they might communicate simply as men.

It would have been inappropriate to go the whole evening before Carson's marriage without mentioning the bride.

"I envy you a little, marrying a woman with whom you are in love," Robert remarked reflectively as they lingered over their port. Immediately a look of consternation passed over Carson's face. Robert sighed. "Come on, Carson. We both know I wasn't in love with Her Ladyship when we married. _She_ knows it. We were fortunate. It went that way soon thereafter. But for you it's there from the beginning."

Carson was not disturbed about the revelation about His Lordship, because he _had_ known that. For six months during the tumultuous year in which Robert Crawley had courted Cora Levinson, Carson had served as valet to Viscount Grantham - as His Lordship had then been - as part of the apprenticeship framed by His Lordship's father and his long-time butler, Mr. Finch, to train Carson up as a butler. It had been their shared conviction that he ought to have exposure to all forms of the work he would eventually supervise.

Viscount Grantham was still in the army then and his uniforms were a protocol nightmare for a valet with no military experience. And then Robert Crawley had also been actively wife-hunting, in pursuit of a means to secure the often-precarious financial stability of the estate. This had meant a taxing social round and an endless parade of clothing changes. As Carson would acknowledge in later years, when the terror of a misplaced medal or incorrectly folded strap was long past, it had been an education.

It had also thrown the two young men together in circumstances that forged a personal bond. They'd known each other for years, of course, but had never played together, a consequence of the difference in age, rather than class. Carson had not served Robert Crawley directly again until the man succeeded to the title on the death of his father, the Sixth Earl, eight years later. It helped smooth the transition that they had worked together before and that, Carson only appreciated after the fact, had also been part of the late Earl's plan. They were an intense six months and Carson had become privy to many delicate details about His Lordship then, including the fact about his marriage to which Robert Crawley now alluded.

Carson preferred to pretend at he did not know, or at least did not remember, such details. Discretion was a byword with him. But in this moment he was more unsettled by His Lordship's reference to his own relationship and to the nature of his affections for Mrs. Hughes. They had never spoken of these things. How could His Lordship know how he felt?

If he had put the question directly, which he never would, Robert would have had an answer for him. The Carson he knew would not have challenged the bulwark of tradition for anything less than the most compelling of reasons. If it were only a matter of companionship, or some more prosaic need such as care in the face of infirmity, Robert was certain that Carson would have found a less revolutionary course to take in its resolution. That Carson had chosen marriage told Robert that this was nothing less than love. Even without this reasoning, Robert would have known. They were both Englishmen, reared to mastery over the overt expression of their feelings in a society that brooked no public displays of affection in word or deed. To communicate their feelings they had recourse to other means. In Carson's case, the eyes said it all.

"Getting married is much more complicated than I thought," Carson mused, his admission evidence that the alcohol had had some effect.

"Hah!" Robert laughed. "Carson. There's nothing more complicated, or more fraught with danger than a wedding. And I say that," he added, "as someone who's been on a battlefield. Women and emotions are involved, after all." Alcohol had made Robert more outspoken as well.

Before Christmas Eve, Carson might have demurred on this. Mrs. Hughes was a well-grounded woman with an exceptional level of common sense. She was not easily flustered. But he had caught glimpses in the past few months of a different side of her, a more emotional side. He was not deterred by this, only surprised. Indeed, it was gratifying to know that there were things about her he did not know, insights yet to be gained. He looked forward to discovering others.

"But things will get simpler," Robert went on. "Eventually." At Carson's alarmed look, Robert grinned. " _Everything_ about getting married is complicated, Carson. And there are joys _and_ tears in abundance until...well, everything settles down. Try not to take it _too_ personally. It happens to everyone. Just try to be understanding in the first few days and everything will work itself out."

It was for both of them a reasonably early night. Robert felt he had done his duty as both a best man and an empathetic representative of married men in offering Carson some distraction and helping him to fill those agonizing hours on the eve of the great event. And he had exercised moderation, ensuring that neither he nor Carson had imbibed excessively. He could send his charge off to bed with his own conscience clear. He received with modesty Carson's thanks for his company and his solicitude.

"It was my pleasure," he assured Carson. "Now, _try_ to get some sleep."

As he climbed the stairs to the men's quarters, realizing as he did so that this was the last time he would take this journey for such a purpose, Carson felt a contentment he knew he could not attribute to the wine he had consumed. His Lordship had set out to distract him on this evening when he was so anxious and impatient for things to come and he had been successful in doing so. Mrs. Hughes had never vanished from his mind, but his single-minded absorption with her had been dampened a little, if only for a little while.

Now, fewer than twelve hours remained before he would be married, and tomorrow night, by this time, he would be a very different man.

 ***A/N1.** The General Strike lasted from May 4 to May 13, 1926. A 'general strike' is a large-scale labour action the purpose of which is to secure advances in labour relations by effectively shutting down a specific jurisdiction, whether at a city, provincial/state, or national level. In 1905, a gigantic general strike in Russia played a major role in the revolution that year. The 1926 strike in the U.K. was calmer than most and a failure for labour.

 ****A/N2.** Winston Churchill was the Chancellor of the Exchequer in 1926. Under the 1924 Dawes Plan, an American-sponsored revision of some of the financial terms of the 1919 Treaty of Versailles, economic concessions were made to Germany for the purposes of enabling that nation to pay war reparations. It was a widely-held view in governing circles in the 1920s, in England and the United States, that the Treaty of Versailles had punished Germany excessively, although American intervention was also motivated by a desire to get the European powers to pay their war loans. Not everyone agreed with these positions.

 *****A/N3.** Winston Churchill _did_ shift between political parties. He started as a Conservative, served under Liberal Prime Ministers Asquith and Lloyd George, and then returned to the Conservative fold in the mid-1920s. Some people thought ill of him for this. Churchill claimed it was the parties who shifted, not him.

 ******A/N4.** What's a Downton Abbey episode without Robert making a totally wrong prediction about the future?

And, if you're still reading at this point, a postscript. I just wasn't sure which way I wanted to end the chapter.

 **Robert Gets it Wrong. Again.**

"What did you and Carson talk about?"

Robert shrugged. "Politics mostly. The strike. Mr. Churchill's decision to put us back on the gold standard." He thought for a minute and then smiled. "And Mary, of course."

This was the kind of information that made Cora despair about her husband. It had never surprised her in the least that Robert relied so much on Carson. With whom else was such a mundane conversation possible?

"Did you give him the benefit of your experience?" she asked in a beguiling tone, pulling back the bedclothes so that he could climb in beside her.

Robert smiled his thanks for her consideration, but looked puzzled at her words. "What do you mean?"

An exasperated sound escaped Cora. "What do you think I mean, Robert? He's getting married tomorrow. For the first time. You're a married man. Did you talk about what a lot of fun he was about to have?" Even as she said this, Cora tried to suppress the mental images that her own words had conjured.

Her husband stared at her with a look mingling distaste and incredulity. "Of course not!" he said indignantly. "Really." He shook his head. "Cora," he began again, with a slightly patronizing tone, "Carson is a man with a _past_. He's had more experience than I ever did, and I was a soldier. It might have been a long time ago, but there it is."

Cora ignored his allusion to his own past. "Robert, we're talking about Carson."

"Yes, we are. And I think I have a better idea of the situation there than you do."

She shifted away from him so that she could turn out the light. "That would be a first," she murmured.


	17. Chapter 17: The Waiting

**Chapter 17 The Waiting**

 **Packing**

He wasn't one to leave important things to the last minute, but he'd left the packing of his case to the night before thinking it would give him something to do as he waited. Perhaps he ought to have gone straight to bed, but he didn't think he would sleep. And there were his things to prepare for the trip.

Tomorrow he would wear his grey suit, the one he'd gotten last year for the dedication of the war memorial. It had been, perhaps, an extraordinary expenditure for such an occasion, but he had already had it in his mind to propose marriage to Mrs. Hughes and thought it worth the investment. With that additional use idling to one side, he had opted for quality, going to a tailor in London and having it made to order. Off-the-rack things were increasingly available, but he disdained them. He'd only worn it the once, but had this week checked it over carefully to make sure it remained without blemish. He'd tried it on, too, and been gratified to see that it still fit perfectly. There had been no great alterations to his physical make-up in the past six months. The suit hung now on the hanger in his wardrobe. Beside it was a new tie. There weren't many opportunities in his life to wear such clothing, so the other tie might have done, but he was sentimental and wanted to think of his wedding day, and only his wedding day, whenever he set eyes on that scrap of silk. The other elements of his outfit tomorrow were all set out as well - shirt, socks, underwear, handkerchief, highly polished shoes. He had left nothing to chance.

Now he set about packing the things he would need for the next week, for his - _their_ \- honeymoon. It thrilled him, that did, just the word. He took a deep breath and tried to focus on the task at hand. He'd already made a list of what he was going to take so it was only a matter of transferring the items from his wardrobe and drawers to the case. He did this as he did everything, with painstaking thoroughness, letting the rhythms of routine do their work in keeping the impulse to anxiety at bay. There was a bit of an art to packing and he was a past master of it, though it was a valet's specialty.

The last thing to go in was the package that Anna had given him earlier, the still-wrapped gift he had arranged for Mrs. Hughes. He held it in his hands for a long moment, alternating between the temptation to open it and both a habit of delayed gratification and a reluctance to disturb the artfully tied bow Anna had made. But who was he fooling with his restraint? He sat down on the bed and pulled the ribbon, telling himself that he could tie it up again as neatly or, perhaps, that Mrs. Hughes would be so distracted by the gift itself or the circumstances in which it was given that she wouldn't notice if he made a hash of it.

He drew aside the wrapping and stared at the nightdress for a long moment without touching it. And then he seized it and held it up by the shoulders and stood to allow it to flow freely before him. And he smiled. It was exactly what he had envisioned, his awkward and incomplete instructions perfectly captured by a seamstress through the medium of Anna's capable interpretation. It was modest and pretty and surprisingly seductive to his hungry eyes. He wanted Mrs. Hughes - _Elsie_ , better get used to that - to feel comfortable and attractive and also that she was desirable to him, and this nightdress would, he felt, meet these criteria with some left over besides.

It was fine white cotton, something light for summer wear. He would get her something new for the colder seasons, something to replace her worn flannel gown, but in this moment he had thought only of the next few months. The collar was square and fell low enough to be suggestive, but not too low for comfort. Mrs. Hu... _Elsie_ was modest. No one save the doctor had seen her in any state of undress since girlhood likely. He wanted to be able to look at her in this gown without undue self-consciousness on her part. For the same reason, although he had toyed with the idea of a sleeveless shift, he had in the end decided for short sleeves that would fall almost to her elbows and a loose-flowing skirt that dipped below her knees. The bodice was slightly more close-fitting, relaxed enough for her comfort, tailored enough to inspire his imagination. And there, across the breast, the particular feature he had detailed for Anna, the small, special thing that he had sought as a very personal reflection of their union. His fingers traced the embroidered pattern there and as they did so he felt a constriction in his throat. It was precisely as he had envisaged it.

For a long moment he held the nightdress at arm's length and took in its every detail. And then abruptly he folded it into his arms as tomorrow night he would encompass it and Elsie within it in his embrace, and he pressed his lips to the embroidered design and tried to imagine what it would be like to feel _her_ beneath it. How exciting it was to indulge his feelings like this. It was an unprecedented experience for him.

And then he folded the gown again, trying to duplicate the crisp lines Anna had expertly achieved. It was a futile effort, of course, but he made it look tidy enough. Before he drew the wrapping around it again, his fingers lingered over the embroidery once more. The nightdress was so simple. He thought it was beautiful and hoped that she would find it so, too. He had little experience with this. But this special touch - well, that would win her over, he thought, even if she despaired otherwise at his unassuming tastes. He re-tied the ribbon, made the best bow he could, and then placed the parcel on top of his own things and closed the case lid over it.

Then he set that on the floor and sat down on the bed, just looking around, and a wholly different sensation came over him. It was his last night in this room. He'd slept here for thirty years. _Thirty years_. It was his home. He'd occupied no other space in his lifetime for as great a span of time as he had this room. A wave of melancholy consumed him, an inexplicable melancholy. It was only a room, and not a particularly nice one at that. It was innately functional, and had little to recommend it otherwise. True, he had no _use_ for anything other than the simple amenities it offered - bed, wardrobe, desk, chair, reading lamp - but it said almost nothing of him. And now, like his wardrobe, it was devoid of anything but those utilitarian elements that had no claim on him. There was as little here now to mark his presence, save those things he needed for tomorrow, as there was of Mr. Finch whom he had succeeded. Everything else, his clothes and his few personal possessions, had already been removed to the cottage.

 _Their_ cottage. Well. There was the remedy, wasn't it? He would miss this room for what it meant in his life at Downton, but he need not mourn it for any other reason. Downton had been good to him, and it would continue to be so, just in different ways. It was the _idea_ of change itself that unsettled him, not the particular change he was embracing. Because he had no doubt there. It was, as he had told Elsie so firmly, the thing about which he had never been so sure in his life.

He'd already had quite enough to drink this evening. The wine and the port were of superior quality and he had enjoyed them as much as he could anything on this night. But there, on his nightstand, was a bottle of whisky - a very fine bottle of whisky - and a shot glass. It was His Lordship's remedy for sleeplessness and His Lordship's bottle - he recognized the brand - brought up here earlier by one of the staff, at His Lordship's direction.

As he changed into his nightclothes, his eyes rested on the bottle, and then, after some consideration, he poured himself a drink. He took a sip, and then swallowed the rest in one. Then he got into bed, turned out the light, and willed himself to sleep.

 **Dressing**

And he slept. And then woke at four a.m. and found it impossible to shut his eyes again.

Details circulated in his mind. Did he know where the ring was? He was out of bed and shuffling through this pockets before he remembered that His Lordship had taken possession of it to prevent just this kind of frenzy. And yet, when he returned to his bed, he wondered if it was safe with His Lordship. After all, the man had a valet who looked after _his_ details.

He watched the hands of the clock shift with an agonizing slowness, and determined that he would be out of bed at six and downstairs and out of the way of Mrs. Hughes - _Elsie!_ \- that they might not meet on the stairs. He hadn't gotten her schedule for the morning, the first morning of their lives together in this house that he _didn't_ know where she'd be and what she'd be doing. He only knew that the wedding was to begin at ten a.m. This lack of knowledge ate away at him. Uncertainty was the enemy of calm.

He whiled away half an hour or so poring over his copy of _The Book of Common Prayer_ , reviewing the vows he would take. Mr. Travis would prompt him, of course, but he wanted to be so familiar with them that the words would fall from his lips smoothly. The least hesitation would undermine their impact. Think of the Duke of York. The speech His Royal Highness Prince Albert had made to close the British Empire Exhibition last year had been painful in the extreme, an agony no less excruciating for those who heard the broadcast of the speech over the wireless than for those in attendance. It was, Carson thought, just another reason why royalty should not lower themselves to vulgar forums of communication. He favoured the Duke of York over his more frivolous brother the Prince of Wales - at a personal level, not in any way that might support a revolutionary displacement of the legitimate heir - but had been quite embarrassed for the man. Although _he_ had never mis-spoken in public in his life, the Prince's tortured speech put the fear of God into Carson at this emotionally intense moment. Even so, he soon realized that he could not properly practice his vows in his bedroom, for if he spoke in anything but a low voice, he might disturb Mrs. Hughes - _Elsie_! - with whose bedroom his own shared a wall.

That reminded him. He lay unmoving for several minutes, straining to hear a sound from her room, wondering if she were lying awake in as unsettled a state as he was. He heard nothing. How could she possibly still be sleeping on this of all mornings?

One minute before six there was a knock on his door and he fairly leaped from his bed, anticipating the worst, as if it were possible that he would not have heard through the wall any crisis involving ... _Elsie_. But it was only Mr. Bates, formally attired in a very nice suit that Carson had never seen him wear before. He was distracted. Mr. Bates had not been to the servants' quarters since he had moved into his own cottage some years earlier. Carson stared at him, perplexed.

Bates smiled politely, understanding without explanation Mr. Carson's surprise. "I'm here to see that you have everything you need, Mr. Carson," he said easily.

Not entirely certain this was necessary, Carson nevertheless admitted him to the room. He was not accustomed to a valet's attentions, although in the past he had occasionally employed a hall boy to help him dress, as part of the training a great house offered to such lads as aspired to service careers. These had been few and far between since the war.

Carson had never had the opportunity to observe Bates at work and in a matter of minutes was impressed. There was not, in any real sense, all that much to do, as he would be wearing a suit, not a more complicated morning coat, and Carson was more accustomed to dressing himself than being dressed and so was not as cooperative as His Lordship, for whom the practice was second nature. But it was a pleasant indulgence nevertheless. The valet offered to shave him and Carson agreed, a little tenuously, and then was glad to have done so when he felt the other's steady hand. Left to his own devices he was sure to have cut himself.

What Carson would not appreciate for days, and what was surely Mr. Bates's major objective in providing this service, was the calmness the valet brought to the room and to the groom. He slowed everything down, investing the morning routines - every aspect of which was so emotionally charged on this most important of mornings - with an air of comfort, and familiarity, and serenity. Carson breathed more easily in Mr. Bates's company.

The valet also came with information.

"Mrs. Patmore has prepared a light, cold breakfast upstairs and down," he said. "The staff will eat at their usual hour and Andrew will bring you coffee and a little something in the butler's pantry, so that you don't have the distraction of eating with the crowd. Andrew will then attend to the family, while Mr. Barrow, Mrs. Patmore, and Daisy turn their attention to the final arrangements for the wedding breakfast. Mrs. Patmore will bring Mrs. Hughes her breakfast shortly and, after they've attended to Her Ladyship, Lady Mary, and Lady Edith, Miss Baxter and Anna will go to her. And, when he's finished his breakfast, His Lordship will come downstairs to meet you..."

"Downstairs? His Lordship?" Carson had been attempting to absorb this litany, although he had the sensation of hearing it through distorting medium that made it difficult to follow. But this detail drew his attention.

Bates only smiled and began to brush the shoulders of Carson's suit. "Your best man is charged with keeping you sane and making sure you get to the church on time, Mr. Carson, and he's quite looking forward to these tasks."

"I'm glad someone is enjoying this," Carson grumbled, although he wasn't at all disgruntled. He was nervous, not unhappy. He just wanted everything to go smoothly and not knowing that it would had him in a state of some agitation.

" _Everyone_ is in good humour this morning, Mr. Carson. _Even_ Mrs. Patmore."

Certainly Carson had never seen Mr. Bates so persistently cheerful. That was food for thought. "It is a great rigamarole, isn't it?" he said quietly, as the valet expertly knotted his tie.

"It is, indeed, Mr. Carson. And well worth it." Bates stepped back, admiring his handiwork. "And you've made me so very grateful that Anna and I went another way!" He laughed aloud at this and Carson managed an almost reluctant smile.

"You are perfection, Mr. Carson"

"Thank you, Mr. Bates." Carson glanced at himself in the looking glass and was startled to find himself in agreement with the valet's remark. He had never looked this good.

"Mr. Stark will take you and His Lordship to the church and then return for the family. Mrs. Hughes and Miss Baxter will follow in the second car."

"Not Anna?" Carson was surprised at this. He thought Elsie... _Elsie! he'd finally gotten it_ ... would want Anna with her this morning.

But Bates was shaking his head. "No, Anna will go with the rest of the staff."

"As you will," Carson assumed.

"Oh, I'll get there," Bates said circumspectly.

The sure hand and serene demeanour of the professional valet had done their work. Bates had drawn out the dressing process and assured the groom a level of sartorial splendour that exceeded even Mr. Carson's usual standard.

"I'm very grateful to you, Mr. Bates."

Bates smiled warmly. "I'm happy to be of service, Mr. Carson."

 **Waiting**

Mr. Bates's presence had had a tranquilizing effect, not least because the man had a talent for easy conversation hitherto unknown to Mr. Carson. Clearly he saved it for the dressing room. No wonder His Lordship valued the man.

Once more on his own in his pantry, Carson soon felt his blood pressure rising again. Andrew appeared with a tray and observed congenially that Mr. Carson looked smashing - a vulgar London word that Carson might have objected to had he been in his right mind. Andrew was quite smartly done up himself. The staff were out of uniform today as they were to attend the wedding as guests and could not have found the time to change between their morning duties and the ceremony. Andrew was pleasant, but he was also young and still something of an unknown quantity to Carson, and so had no ameliorating impact on the groom's anxiety. Andrew adroitly read the signs, deposited the tray, and departed. Carson took a single sip of the coffee and then ignored it and the rest of his breakfast. He wasn't hungry.

His Lordship appeared just before eight, coming directly from his dressing room to the butler's pantry.

"But what about your breakfast?" Carson asked him, stirred from his own preoccupations by the compulsive habit of concern for His Lordship.

Robert waved away his query. "I'm too excited to eat!" he declared.

Carson took him at his word and lapsed back into his own whirlwind of worries. "You have the ring?"

Robert grinned and produced an elegant little polished wooden box. He flicked it open to show Carson the ring sitting snugly on a felt cushion within.

Carson frowned. "Where did that come from?" he asked, thrown by any new element, however insignificant.

"I borrowed it from Her Ladyship," Robert responded, returning the ring and its box to his breast pocket.

They were interrupted by a knock at the door and Molesley came in, bearing a shallow, open box with several large yellow roses in it.

"Mr. Brook sent these in, Mr. Carson," Molesley said, approaching the groom.

This, like the ring box, flustered Carson. "What for?" he demanded.

Robert and Molesley exchanged amused glances.

"Your button hole, of course," Molesley replied, ignoring Mr. Carson's belligerent tone. "For you and your best man and your ushers."

"Ushers?" Too many unanticipated details were increasing Carson's tension.

Robert moved smoothly into the gap, examining the flowers and selecting two. He carefully pared them both of their greenery. "Take one for yourself, Molesley," he directed, "and give the others to Barrow and Andrew."

Molesley nodded. "Would you like me to do that for you, my lord?"

Robert acquiesced and stood still as Molesley expertly fitted the flower into His Lordship's button hole. When the footman then turned to Carson, Robert discreetly waved him away. "I'll manage it," he said softly.

Molesley responded with an exaggerated nod, exchanged an understanding look with His Lordship, and then took up the box and left the room.

Robert turned to Carson. "I've never actually done this on anyone else," he murmured, arranging the flower in Carson's button hole. His words prompted a look of alarm to descend on the groom.

Robert noticed. "Steady on, Carson. It's not surgery." He stepped back to admire his work, but noted Carson checking the flower's security as soon as he thought Robert wasn't looking.

"I know it's easier to say than do, Carson, but try to live in the minute. Enjoy it all as it's happening. It will never happen again." This was the best man's best advice. "Let's go."

Together they marched up the stairs, through the green baize door and out into the Great Hall. Carson followed complacently until they came to the main doors and then he balked.

"My lord," he protested.

Robert fixed him with a look. "Carson, you are marrying from this house and on this day both you and Mrs. Hughes will depart from this house through the front doors. Now, come on."

Two cars were drawn up before the house. Robert stood still for a moment, as though considering something. "We could drive to the church, if you like," he said, with a sidelong glance at Carson. "But I think we should walk. We have the time and a little fresh air might help."

"Help what?" Carson demanded.

Robert did not answer. Instead he walked away from the house and away from the formal drive, heading down one of the gravel paths that crossed the lawn. It was a shortcut that led through the woods and would bring them into the village behind the church.

They walked in a companionable silence. Robert meditated on his own wedding day, thirty-six years earlier, recalling with the editorial precision of hindsight all the pleasant aspects and excising those moments that had caused any friction.

Carson, now shorn of all the extraneous baggage, material and emotional, of the past few months and hours, was able to focus his attention on the single salient fact of the moment: he was on his way to Downton village church to marry the woman he loved. How fortunate he was to have found her and to know in this life such an all-encompassing passion - of heart, mind, body, and soul - for another human being, and _such_ a being she was. He was profoundly humbled by this development and endlessly grateful for the gift. _God has blessed me this day_ , he told himself.

It had been a good idea, this pastoral walk in the morning air. It cleared his mind and calmed his nerves, as well as consuming minutes that would otherwise have exacerbated this interminable waiting for the appointed hour. Robert so managed the walk, by setting a pace he knew Carson would accommodate as he accommodated everything to His Lordship's wishes, that the shortcut saved them no time at all, though they still arrived at the church in good time. And at the appropriate moment they took their place before the altar.

There were a few early arrivals and then the trickle turned into a steady stream. The church filled - family on the groom's side, staff on the bride's, and most of the village less formally arranged behind them. The Crawleys came in last. Standing beside Carson, Robert glanced over his shoulder and unobtrusively acknowledged his wife and daughters with a nod. Cora's eyes found him and she smiled. Edith's serene countenance betrayed no misgivings at attending a wedding in the very church where she had been jilted at the altar. Mary's gaze was riveted on Carson, as if she were trying to memorize familiar details about him before everything changed.

Carson did not seem to notice the eyes upon him. Robert understood why. This was one of the most emotionally tense moments of any man's life, this standing up before the world, declaring one's love before witnesses, committing of one's life to another's _for life_. Any man might be paralyzed in the grip of this thrilling, desirable terror. Robert leaned over to Carson.

"How are you?" he asked, knowing what a trifling question it was at such a moment.

Carson moved almost imperceptibly in Robert's direction. Robert inclined his head that Carson might speak to him as discreetly as possible.

"I have never been so happy in my life," Carson said. He spoke quietly, but his words resounded as from the depths of his soul.

A slow smile spread across Robert's face and he put a hand on Carson's shoulder. "Good man."

And then the music began.


	18. Chapter 18: The Bride's Day

**GETTING MARRIED**

 **Chapter 18 The Bride's Day**

 **Reflections**

She was alone in her room now and wide awake, notwithstanding the few glasses of wine she'd had, which in the past often lulled her to sleep.

The case on her bed was almost complete, save for those things she needed tonight. She'd done it that morning, getting up a little earlier to do so. It wasn't something she had wanted to be doing at the last minute, certain that the unfamiliar state of emotional excitement would lead her to overlook some important item. And she wanted time to reflect on what had happened that day and what would happen the next.

She had much to be happy about, but she was absolutely glowing about the dress. Those dear women! They saved her from herself and she would ever be grateful to them for that. And then there was the dress itself. When she put it on earlier that Miss Baxter might make appropriate adjustments, they discovered that there were none to make. It fit perfectly. What an eye that woman had! And then she had slipped into the dress coat and Miss Baxter had pinned it up, and even now was off in the laundry room, whirring away on her sewing machine, working into the night that the bride might look her best.

For she was going to wear the coat. Between it and the lovely, lovely dress - she went over to where it was hanging on a hook on her wardrobe and ran her hands over the fine silk – she would never have anything so lovely to wear again. She could imagine, if she closed her eyes and wished away the years, that she will be a beautiful bride on the morrow, one as beautiful as Mr. Carson in his impeccable suit with his shining shoes and sparkling cufflinks deserved.

Her eyes left the dress and wandered the room, the room she had occupied for twenty-five years. It was a utilitarian space and now, stripped of almost all personal elements, this fact was even more starkly apparent. She wasn't going to miss this room. Her physical circumstances meant nothing to her, had no claim on her feelings. Even as this thought crossed her mind, she knew it was not true of the cottage. _Their_ cottage. Although she and Mr. Carson would share a bedroom - there was a thought that would take some getting used to! - they would also have the rest of the cottage between them. So much space.

And privacy. Privacy had always been at a premium in the big house. But there it will be the norm. And the cottage will be theirs - not quite like the house they actually owned, but much more so than the rooms in which they had dressed and slept and dreamt for decades. They had so far made only the most basic arrangements at the cottage - moving in the furniture they'd collected and the few boxes of their few personal belongings - the civilian clothing they would not be taking on their trip, the personal items and mementoes they had. It was going to take time to find the right place for everything and they would have a lifetime together to do that. The only room that was in a ready state was the one for which they would have immediate use on their return - the bedroom. She pushed that thought away and began to undress. Best get to bed. Tomorrow would be a full day.

As she shed the clothing of the housekeeper of Downton Abbey, she pondered the fact that she would not don this garb again for a week. For an entire week she would have no responsibilities, have to answer to no one. How liberating! The last time she had been so casual was a long time ago indeed. And then she picked up her nightgown and a new pang of unease struck her. She was fortunate to have the dress with which to impress her husband-to-be, for she had nothing else. It wasn't just that her day dresses were drab, but that everything else was besides. She had resisted the pull of the modern world in her choice of underclothes and was the last woman in the house still wearing a corset. _Even_ Mrs. Patmore had abandoned hers. With the great change of marriage imminent, she might have seized the moment to take a new direction, but a wedding day, already fraught with so many pressures, was not the time to embrace the rational dress movement. That practical thought had stilled her concerns that morning as she folded her clothes.

Tonight she did not linger in putting her nightgown on, having already over the past few months examined her body critically and at some length. Nothing had changed there. A woman in late middle age had disadvantages and there was nothing to be done about them. All she could do now was to take Mr. Carson at his word and acknowledge the desire he had both spoken of and shown her, insofar as that was possible.

But she did stare long and hard at the picture she presented in this worn flannel gown. It was not in the least attractive. It was even more shapeless than her day clothes, designed for warmth and comfort, not for appeal. It hadn't even been pretty when new and now the sombre burgundy had been dulled by the years of washing and wearing. Everyone would see her in her beautiful wedding dress, but only Mr. Carson - _Charlie_ \- was going to see her in her nightgown, and he was the one who mattered. And it wasn't flattering in the least. She was nervous enough, because she _was_ still nervous, about his seeing her body, but she hadn't thought of his response to the nightdress. She frowned at her reflection in the mirror and then it occurred to her to wonder if it would matter what her nightgown looked like.

The question drew her directly into those considerations Anna had raised in her garrulous confession of wedding night intimacies that had not fooled either one of them. Elsie had accepted and even come to anticipate the fact of physical intimacy with her husband. But...how would it be between them tomorrow night? She had been honest with Anna about her theoretical knowledge of the...the _act_...itself. She knew the technical details. But she was perplexed about _how_ they would get to it. Would they undress together or separately? Would they do this in the dark? In the season of greatest light, would they have to wait well into the evening to begin? Was it possible to do... _it_...without taking off all their clothes? Would they even _wear_ nightclothes? Mrs. Patmore had tried to quell the apprehensions this kind of speculation stirred by pointing out that he would be worried about these same things, but Elsie wasn't soothed by this. That was his problem.

She gave up and collapsed on her bed. There was nothing she could do about her nightgown now and, unlike the dress, it was unlikely that there would be an eleventh hour intervention by anyone to save her from herself. Her hand strayed across the bedcover. It was a quilt. Her mother had made it almost half a century earlier, a present to her elder daughter as she left home to take up her first position as a housemaid. It had adorned every bed she had slept in since. Like her nightdress, it showed the cares of the years, but she would never dismiss it because of age. The quilt was going with her to the cottage and there it would grace the bed she would share with... _Charlie_. She hadn't discussed it with him, but for her it was one thing that would not be up for discussion. It ought, perhaps, to have gone over to the cottage with her other things, but she could not imagine a night in this room without it and so it stayed. She'd kept it for luck. So Mr. Carson was not the only one with superstitions.

All her nighttime rituals had, tonight, taken on an unanticipated poignancy. It was the last time she would do them in a room by herself. No longer will she share the bathroom with all the women on the floor. Instead it will be just the two of them. And they will share a bedroom, where for decades she had been alone. From now on she will have both more and less privacy. They would have to work out their habits _with_ each other, habits they had indulged for decades and must now fit around each other. Which of them will find this more difficult? She knew which she would put money on!

She had almost forgotten, in her excitement over tomorrow, and tomorrow night - a thrill ran up her spine every time she thought of it - and then every day after that, to say her prayers. The ritual was always a calming one and she needed that tonight. As she reached to turn out the light, she wondered when she would get the chance to say her prayers tomorrow night. Before? After? What complications marriage brought!

And then she turned to prayer and was overcome with a wave of gratitude. She had so much for which to be grateful. Tomorrow she was getting married, at her age! She was going to marry a man she dearly loved, which was not something to be taken for granted at any stage of life. She had such very good friends and her every wish concerning this great event in her life had come true. If there had been a bit of a struggle over one or two things, then that only had the effect of making them sweeter in the end. She could not turn her thoughts in any direction that did not bring her back to Mr. Carson.

 _Charlie_. She had been practicing his name of late, whispering it to herself at night, wanting to be able to say it easily and naturally when the right moment came. They'd discussed only briefly, days after they became engaged, what she would call him, but she hadn't had the opportunity to use it since. He'd insisted on their usual forms of address when at work, and they were _always_ at work.

So she had ruminated on it on her own - Charles or Charlie. He was so formal that Charles might have been more apt. But she didn't want that formality to extend into their personal lives. She wanted to know and call forth and enjoy his lighter side. She wanted to live with the man he had never been at Downton, the man who had broken free from service and life in the shadow of a great family and estate, and lived and worked for a time in a radically different world on the halls. He had been Charlie there. She loved the formal Charles Carson. That was the man with whom she had first fallen in love. But going forward she wanted to _live_ with a man who was more than a butler. _Charlie_.

From tomorrow, they would be Charlie and Elsie, and for the next week would call each other nothing else. Wasn't that something!

 **Dressing the Bride**

Despite the heightened state of her emotions, she slept. And then she woke in the morning with the sun - brilliant sunshine! - pouring in her window where she had forgotten to draw the curtains.

She woke at her usual hour, but there was nothing usual about this morning, for the holiday of her honeymoon began today on her wedding day. For the first time in her working life, she did not have to get up with the chickens. She lay back in bed, her quilt gathered in her hands, hands clasped over her breast, and listened. Outside her door she could hear the others in the passage - Mrs. Patmore, Miss Baxter, Daisy - all moving about, taking their turns in the bathroom. Then the sounds disappeared as they took to the stairs and she was alone in the women's quarters. It had never happened before that she was the last woman on the floor. In between the familiar noises of the others starting their day, she strained to hear anything from the other side of the wall that separated her room from Charlie's. She had no idea of his schedule for the morning, had never even thought to ask. Was he lying awake next door, like her, in a state of nervous anticipation?

Although she hadn't had an opportunity to sleep in in a very long time, it was impossible to close her eyes again now. Today was the day. In a little while, she would get dressed and then go to the church, and there be the centre of attention. She had never liked that, but in the moment she realized that this was different. She was proud, very proud at the prospect of becoming Mrs. Charles Carson. It was a dream come true and dreams such as this were worthy of extraordinary measures.

And it was going to be a celebration, first at the church and then in the schoolhouse. She smiled to herself in silent congratulation at having waged and won the battle for the reception venue. The Great Hall was a lovely location, but it was _not_ them. Their celebration would be _all_ them. She was going to enjoy herself. It would be the best party she had ever attended.

A knock at the door interrupted her reveries and Mrs. Patmore came in. Elsie sat up, a little embarrassed to be still lounging in her bed, even in the circumstances.

"Cup of tea to start your day off right," Mrs. Patmore announced, putting it down on the little stand by the bed.

"You're very kind," Elsie said humbly. She scrambled to sit up in bed.

Mrs. Patmore waved off her gratitude. "Now, there's nothing for you to do except stay in bed and worry!" She laughed at her own joke. "Daisy will bring you breakfast, by and by, and when Anna and Miss Baxter are finished dressing the ladies, they will come to you."

"I don't know how I will eat a thing," Elsie confessed, and it was true. There were butterflies in her stomach.

"Well, enjoy this morning. You'll not see another like it."

"That's for certain."

With Mrs. Patmore gone she had nothing to do _but_ relax. And worry.

Now she heard sounds from next door, two male voices. So Mr. Carson had some special attention, too. She wondered from whom. Mr. Barrow? It seemed unlikely on both sides.

She thought she would find these minutes slow, but in no time Daisy had appeared with the tray, and not long after, Anna and Miss Baxter were at the door, the latter with the coat draped over her arms.

"We've come to dress the bride!" Miss Baxter declared. She could not have been more enthusiastic had she been in Mrs. Hughes's place.

"Those are words I never thought I'd hear," Mrs. Hughes said. She was trying to be her usual, unruffled self because that was all she knew how to be.

It was a treat to have the women dress her. She had never enjoyed such a luxury. Butlers sometimes employed hallboys to assist them, as a way to train them up to a valet's duties, but housekeepers did not train lady's maids. She had acted as a lady's maid, on occasion, but only in the most perfunctory of ways. Anna and Miss Baxter knew so much more. She gained insight into their work and a new appreciation of their skills as she gave herself over to them.

They laughed together, not least about her corset.

"I don't know where my mind has been," Elsie fussed. "I ought to have done something about it. Will it show through the dress?" She didn't know. Her day dresses were made of heavier materials and black hid almost everything.

"Not to worry," Miss Baxter said soothingly. "I can make lines disappear." And she could.

When they consulted about her hair and had conflicting opinions, exchanging these in the most polite disagreement Mrs. Hughes had ever heard, she ventured an opinion.

"Nothing fancy!"

They both turned to her with smiles at that.

"Just a little fancy," Anna said, reassuringly. "You're getting married, after all. Trust us."

Well, she did. And when they were finished that and everything else, they turned her toward the looking glass. It was an inadequate tool for such a moment, for when had she ever had to do more than check whether her hemline was straight or her hair tidy? But even she could see that they had worked wonders.

"My! The dress, the coat, they make me look beautiful!" she gasped. She couldn't quite believe it.

Miss Baxter put a hand on her arm. "They're only clothes. You _are_ beautiful."

Elsie was taken aback by this, almost as much by Miss Baxter's quiet sincerity as the evidence of her own eyes. "You've done so much, the two of you. How can I ever thank you?"

For Anna, the glistening in Mrs. Hughes's eyes were thanks enough. When had she ever seen the housekeeper so transported?

Miss Baxter's face wore that almost pained look of pleasure. "It's so nice to have been part of this. Thank _you_ for including me."

In her voice Elsie and Anna heard the disappointments and hurts of the woman's past, and were, in their own hearts, delighted to be part of a different life for her.

"Well," Anna said, unable to conceal her own excitement. "Are you ready?"

Mrs. Hughes gave her a look.

Anna's eyes sparkled. "Your carriage awaits, my lady!"

Didn't they laugh at that!

 **Going to the Church**

They went down the servants' staircase, but one flight down, Anna opened the door and led them onto the gallery. Elsie hesitated, but Anna was firm.

"All things are different today," she said, steering the reluctant bride toward the grand staircase.

It was quite possibly the first time that either Anna or Miss Baxter had descended these stairs. The only servant who had the privilege to do so as a matter of course was the butler, although Mr. Carson rarely invoked it. The only time any other staff member might have managed it would have been in the company of one of the family and at their specific instruction. Although it was not a concession that extended to the housekeeper, Mrs. Hughes had traversed the staircase a few times over the years, admittedly while the family were away for the Season and no one else - especially not Mr. Carson - was about. But this time was different. It wasn't like Lady Mary and Lady Edith descending to meet their waiting father. No one would be waiting for her. But it was nice all the same.

She was wrong about one thing. There was someone waiting at the bottom of the stairs. Mr. Barrow.

"Your car awaits, Mrs. Hughes," he announced, as the three women reached the main floor. He held out his arm that she might take it. "Anna, Miss Baxter, Mr. Pratt will take you in the other car."

Miss Baxter looked elated at the honour. Anna was puzzled. She turned to Mrs. Hughes.

"Ought I not to accompany you? You don't want to be alone."

"She won't be alone," Barrow said smoothly, tightening his grip almost possessively. "I can assure you of that."

Mrs. Hughes felt a little guilty about this, but hoped Anna would understand. She reached out to touch Anna's arm. "I'll be fine."

Anna gave in with good grace. It was the bride's day. She joined the lady's maid at the door and the two of them giggled as they made their way to the luxurious car where Mr. Pratt stood, holding the door open that they might get into the back. There were treats all around on this day.

Barrow watched them carefully. "They're gone."

At his words, Mr. Bates stepped out of the library. He nodded to the underbutler as Barrow handed Mrs. Hughes over to him. "Thank you, Mr. Barrow."

She gave Mr. Barrow a warm look. "Yes, thank you so much for that."

He gave her a quick smile.

"Will you join us?" she asked.

"No, thank you, Mrs. Hughes. I'll just dash down the shortcut. Be there before you." He saw them out the front door and then turned to have a few words with the unfortunate hallboy who had drawn the duty of guarding the house in the absence of everyone else.

Outside, Mr. Bates looked down at the woman on his arm.

"If I may be so bold to say, you are beautiful, indeed, Mrs. Hughes."

"Oh, you," she said, blushing a little and a bit exasperated with herself for doing so. "I might say that you're looking rather handsome yourself." He was wearing a suit she had never seen before and it did give her a different perspective. "Perhaps I've had my eye on the wrong man."

He laughed. "I'm already spoken for," he said, "and it's me who's supposed to be putting you at your ease." He glanced back at the house. "Mr. Barrow was all cooperation this morning," he added.

"I think he's trying."

"Well, we all try new things once in a while."

They made their way to the car slowly, in part because of Bates's limp, but mostly because the solemnity of the occasion demanded a sedate pace.

"Did you have a moment to yourself this morning?" he asked.

"I did. But nothing seems real to me."

"Then it must be going well."

Mr. Stark held the door of the limousine for them, smiling as they slipped into the spacious back seat.

"Now, this is luxury," Mrs. Hughes said, settling in. "I've never sat here before."

Bates leaned back into the comfortable seat. "Me either. Let's enjoy ourselves."

As the car began to move, he glanced at her. "Was Anna difficult?"

This gave Mrs. Hughes a twinge. "A little hurt, I think. I feel badly about that."

"Well, we can't have that," he said easily. "I'll make it up to her."

They exchanged a smile, he looking forward to reconciling this small wound with Anna, and she marveling about this aspect of a good marriage. She and Mr. Carson had had their disagreements over the years and had overcome them, most of them, but it would be a different dynamic when they were married. She thought perhaps she would look forward to making things up with...Charlie.

Bates played his wedding morning role here, too, engaging in cheerful, distracting banter as the car rolled smoothly down the quiet lanes. Elsie had never seen him like this. It was another side to this very complex man and she felt, more than ever, that Anna was very fortunate in her husband.

He fell silent as the car approached the church and Elsie appreciated this, too. It gave her time to gather her thoughts. She thought of her parents and hoped that somehow they could see her so happy on this happy day. She thought of Charlie. Though she had loved him for a long time, she had truly never thought this day would come for them. That it had was down to him, the dear man. And if she'd ever imagined such an occasion, she could never have envisaged the circumstances or counted the blessings that had rained down upon her these past few months in association with this turning point in her life. However overwhelmed she might be, she knew who to thank for it all. _God has blessed me this day_.

At the church, there were some well-wishers lingering outside, but Mr. Bates waved them away. He was all formality now, his expression one of dignified gravity. They walked together into the back of the church where the little flower girls and their handler, a farming wife and mother from the estate, were gathered. Elsie wished Miss Sybbie could have been one of them and believed that Mr. Branson would have allowed it had they been here.

The doors to the main hall were closed over but there was just a crack that allowed a glimpse of the throng within and, seeing this, Elsie gasped involuntarily. There were _so many people_. She had never been easy with this part of it, with being the centre of attention. But it was a particularly awkward moment to succumb to stage fright.

Beside her, Mr. Bates tightened his hold on her arm, intuitively recognizing the signs, or perhaps unable to ignore the terror that was only too clear in her eyes. He bent down to whisper in her ear.

"The only person who matters is the man standing before the altar, waiting for you to come to him. When those doors open wide, ignore everyone else and seek him out. Keep your eyes on him. _No one else matters_."

Oh, but this was the final blessing of this whole wonderful experience, that Mr. Bates was by her side to keep her upright. Now that she was in it, she knew she could never have managed this alone. She couldn't even thank him for his advice. She could only nod and squeeze his arm.

And then the doors swung open and the music began.


	19. Chapter 19: The Wedding

**GETTING MARRIED**

 **Chapter 19 The Wedding**

 **Him**

He turned as the music began, eager to see her. _Anxious_ to see her. The enforced separation of even eighteen hours had awakened a yearning in him hitherto unknown. The doors swung open and...there she was. She was...astonishingly beautiful. He'd been prepared for her beauty, or so he thought, because he saw it every day, his appreciation unhindered by her drab formal clothing and practical hair. Of course, he'd seen a different picture of her at the servants' ball, but she had never looked like this. Today she was beautiful well beyond even his own rose-coloured vision. She was _radiant_. It was what they always said about brides, but how true it was of her. He couldn't even focus on the parts - dress, coat, hair,...timid smile - because his mind could not distinguish them. He was enraptured by the whole.

The moment his eyes fell on her he gasped involuntarily and suddenly went weak, staggering a little. Behind him, Robert stepped in more closely and placed a steadying hand on the groom's shoulder. It didn't surprise Robert that Carson should have had such a visceral emotional response to this breathtaking sight. Though it was their custom to guard their feelings and to affect a demeanour of dispassion, there was no denying that they _had_ feelings, these Englishmen, and that they ran deeply. It only confirmed for Robert what he already knew - that Carson was very much in love.

Fortified by his best man, Carson recovered his poise and simply stared, relishing every second of the bride's march down the aisle toward him, his beautiful bride...on Mr. Bates's arm. Somewhere in his mind he was aware of this detail, but he put it aside to be examined later. There were more compelling, and pleasing, things to concentrate on in this minute.

He knew what it was like to be the centre of attention and understood, perhaps more than most gathered there, the dynamic between actors and audience. But in this, the greatest public moment of his life, the spectators were irrelevant to him. There were only the two of them - he couldn't even hear the music - with His Lordship at his side and Mr. Bates at hers only shadowy presences that could be ignored. Everyone else might as well have been stone.

 **Her**

The music began and the doors opened wide and suddenly a thousand eyes (or so it seemed) were staring at _her_. She had never been at the centre of anything and it was more than daunting. She didn't recognize a single face. They were an alarming blur. Instinctively she clutched more tightly the arm of the man beside her and he obligingly leaned in protectively.

How comforting he was! And how sensible his advice. She lifted her eyes beyond the crowd to the front of the church, peering down that interminably long aisle that she must traverse before all these people. And found him there. He was looking right at her, his mouth agape, his great dark eyes wide with what she could see, even at this vast distance, was a look of pure adoration. Her awareness of the throngs on either side of her faded. There was only him.

He was all starched and polished perfection, as she knew he would be. And as she approached him, she saw in his eyes the blessed confirmation of what looking glass had hinted beguilingly at that morning - that as a bride, she _was_ beautiful.

 **The Downstairs Family**

Anna hadn't seen it coming. When she'd asked the others on the way to the church, no one had known where Mr. Bates was. She was more than a little aggravated. He _knew_ how important this day was to Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes and, through them, to her. When the Crawleys came in last and no John Bates followed, she despaired and grew more vexed than she had almost ever been. Oh! Where was that man! But she thrust her irritation from her mind. She was here to see Mrs. Hughes well married and she was going to focus on that. She'd deal with _him_ later.

When the doors opened, she tried to see over the broad shoulders of Mr. Barrow behind her, and couldn't get a view. Then she stuck her head out into the aisle, which was really what she ought to have done in the first place, and... There was _her_ Mr. Bates, walking Mrs. Hughes down the aisle as though it were the most natural thing in the world! And...so it was. His surprise! She wanted to catch his eye, tried to do so, to let him know with beaming countenance what she thought of his secret. But he did not look at her and then she remembered what was happening and she let go of him and turned her eyes to the bride. This was Mrs. Hughes's day and she deserved every bit of attention that Anna and everyone else could give her. And wasn't she beautiful! Anna's heart filled with elation for this woman for whom she cared so much.

Andy, the tallest member of staff, set eyes on Mrs. Hughes first and his eager look quickly gave way to a wide grin. He liked them both, Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Carson, and was glad for them, Mrs. Hughes especially. Things unfolded differently at Downton Abbey than he'd been led to believe on entering service, what with the senior staff marrying and Lord Grantham himself standing up with Mr. Carson. Andy congratulated himself on landing on his feet in this house, and no mistake, and looked forward to what promised to be a jolly post-wedding party.

 _Lord! She's pretty!_ Daisy stared at Mrs. Hughes in wide-eyed wonder. She'd never given the housekeeper a thought in terms of her looks. She was just _there_. Had she ever seen Mrs. Hughes smile like that? Well, maybe you only smiled that way on your wedding day. If you were marrying right person. Her own wedding had been so different. Daisy had reconciled herself to her marriage to William Mason, given all the good that had flowed from that flawed and fleeting match, but she knew how things were supposed to be and recognized it as it unfolded before her eyes here. Her gaze lingered on the dress. She was pleased and proud to have made even a small contribution to it. They'd had a special moment together last night, the downstairs women of Downton. And they were all going to share in the special day that Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes were having today.

To her surprise, Miss Baxter found tears welling up in her eyes as the music swelled and Mrs. Hughes...and Mr. Bates!...began their procession down the aisle. She was over the moon happy for Mrs. Hughes. Though she had not known Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Carson long and did not know them very well, she was certain that this was a love match, and that simple fact clutched at her heart. She was so caught up in the moment that she did not even think to compliment herself on the perfection of the bride's attire.

Thomas Barrow struggled, as he often did, to be like everyone else. _They're not here to cheer on a man and a woman per se_ , he told himself. _They're just happy for Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Carson. Can't I be, too_? But he couldn't. Oh, he turned as the music started and craned his neck with the rest of them, and caught a little of the mood. Perhaps if he tried harder... He remembered, as an afterthought, Mrs. Hughes's date at the fair back before the war. He'd noted it, said she had a fancy man, prompting the ever-scornful Miss O'Brien, who was Her Ladyship's lady's maid then, to quip, " _If she's got a boyfriend, then I'm a giraffe._ " Well, Barrow smirked, what would O'Brien have made of this development? In passing, because he did observe things, Barrow noted that Mrs. Hughes looked all right today.

Joseph Molesley watched Mrs. Hughes's progress down the aisle with an almost proprietorial sense of satisfaction. He knew from his own work, in years past, as valet and butler at Crawley House and from years of close observation at the Abbey, the dedication demanded of those in the senior positions, and he very much admired both Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes for the way they managed their professional responsibilities. But he knew, too, that there was so much more to life than work. He had struggled all his years in service to keep that in mind and to cultivate those other aspects for himself. If he had not found romance, or even companionship, though...well, perhaps best not go to there...then he had at least managed to establish some kind of inner intellectual life, reading history assiduously and trying to develop some level of expertise in English literature. Though few knew it, he was the most devoted film-goer under Downton's roof. They all need these sorts of absorptions, though not everyone was as diligent or proficient in seeking them out. He was more than pleased that the butler and the housekeeper were reaching for more, and absolutely delighted that they had found it in each other. And he nodded with admiring approval of Mr. Bates, too. He was a close-mouthed, aloof man, Mr. Bates was, but he clearly had a heart as his single-minded devotion to Anna showed. But to do this for Mrs. Hughes. Well, such thoughtfulness demonstrated a nobility of character.

Overjoyed. There was no other word to describe how Mrs. Patmore felt as her eyes fixed on Mrs. Hughes embarking on her joyous journey down the aisle. Mrs. Patmore's sharp eyes and even sharper mind, which were accustomed to absorbing dozens of details a minute in a busy kitchen, took in the whole picture even as she appreciated all the discrete parts. Mrs. Hughes had a shy look about her, coming into the church, the poor dear, and Mrs. Patmore guessed she could understand that. They were not much for the limelight, the two of them. Mrs. Patmore could see how she clung to Mr. Bates - didn't that beat all, Mr. Bates walking Mrs. Hughes down the aisle! - and then how she'd lifted her eyes and found her anchor standing at the altar rail waiting for her. The cook had been more or less indifferent to Mr. Carson over the years, so long as he stayed out of her way, which he'd almost always had the good sense to do. But she'd warmed up to him of late, this marriage business giving her great insights into his character in positive ways. And Mrs. Hughes. Well. The smile that swept her face when her eyes lit on Mr. Carson dispelled any lingering doubt Mrs. Patmore might have had about the housekeeper's love for the butler. They were well matched, the two of them, and not for them a crisis at the altar. Now that they were in the same church on the appointed day, they would be married, and she could breathe with relief. And didn't that dress look wonderful! Miss Baxter had fitted it and Her Ladyship's lovely coat to perfection. That woman was a marvel! And there had been Mrs. Hughes going on about her shapeless late middle aged figure! Mrs. Patmore hoped she'd taken a good long look in the looking glass this morning. And as the couple passed her, Mrs. Patmore spared a thought for Mr. Bates. Goodness, between them Mr. Bates and Mr. Carson made a pretty picture of the downstairs men today. Weren't they both so handsome!

 **Other Perspectives**

Dr. Clarkson had hesitated for a moment coming into the church. Ought he to sit to the left, on what might be termed the 'bride's side' with the servants, or on the right, where the Crawley family were clearly expected to occupy the front row? He smiled to himself at the way the Abbey residents had divided themselves as a comment on the class divisions on the estate. In the end, he chose to sit on the right, though he had no more affinity for Carson than Mrs. Hughes. As he waited for the ceremony to begin, his eyes drifted from the interesting sight, at the front of the church, of Lord Grantham steadying his butler's nerves, to the second row on the groom's side. Yes. There she was. Mrs. Crawley. The family were going to arrive at the last minute, but she was there early, enjoying the atmosphere, and looking...beautiful. Well, so it always was in his view. Not even their recent tiffs over the hospital could dim his admiration for her.

It didn't pay to dwell on her and on what might have been. He was glad when the music started and the bride entered the church and he could focus on other things. He was pleased for them, Carson and Mrs. Hughes. The doctor was no revolutionary, but he'd always thought the impositions on servants in terms of the restrictions on their personal lives stifling and unhealthy. There was more to life than polishing silver and making sure His Lordship or Her Ladyship were comfortable. And he was glad the couple here today had realized that before it was too late. Love wasn't just for the young and here was proof, if proof were needed.

On the bride's side and behind the staff, Mr. Mason was enjoying the event and glad to have been included. Daisy had invited him to sit beside her, but he didn't think it right to do so. That he was here at all was, he was sure, Mrs. Hughes's doing. Mr. Carson was always polite to him, but also scrupulously observed the status divide between them. Butlers of grand estates did not socialize with tenant farmers. This was, however, a very mixed crowd. He saw Mrs. Wigan, the diminutive postmistress of Downton village, straining to see anything over the taller crowd, and the Bakewells, who ran the butcher shop, out in their Sunday best. That such people, who could only have had a formal acquaintance with the senior staff were here, was a tribute to the happy couple.

As his eyes followed Mrs. Hughes to the front of the church where the groom eagerly awaited her, Mr. Mason reflected on happy couples. He knew a thing or two about them. He missed Helen fiercely a decade and more later, missed her for herself and for all that they were to each other. A farmhouse was incomplete without a woman in it, and though he meant it when he encouraged Daisy to come and live with him, that was not quite the same and he was well aware of it. And it wasn't so much that he needed someone - he could fend for himself better than most - but that he wanted company and affection. Incidentally he noticed Mrs. Patmore looking almost as radiant as the bride, clearly so happy for Mrs. Hughes. And what a lovely frock she was wearing, too. It cheered a man's heart to see a woman looking so bright.

 _Mauve really isn't her colour_ , Miss Denker thought, examining the bride with the critical eye of an upscale lady's maid who'd spent most of her professional life in the City. But at that age, one couldn't wear just anything, so perhaps it was for the best. Someone had taken care over her, that was clear. One, or perhaps, even both of Downton's lady's maids? _And_ , so Denker understood the gossip, diffused through the different levels of the Abbey staff, the family were footing the bill for the wedding breakfast _and_ giving the happy couple a week off as well. Didn't some have all the luck!

How he had ended up sitting beside Miss Denker was something that Spratt could not figure out. He'd left the house without her, determined to chart his own course. It was a given of their... he hesitated to use the word 'relationship'...that neither could stand the other. It only followed that they should take any opportunity to distance themselves from one another. And yet there she was, at his side. He did his best to pretend she did not exist, a tactic that had thus far failed to work for him at the Dower House.

There were, no doubt, some who might ask why he was even there. He did not much care for either the bride or the groom and had exchanged perhaps only a handful of words with them over the years. But he did not dare decline to attend. His Ladyship had an extraordinary affection for the butler of Downton Abbey, something Spratt found difficult to comprehend, and she would have looked askance at his failure to exhibit appropriate respect. That said, he did have his own interests here, in the affair itself if not in the persons involved. For Spratt was a close observer of social events in all their ceremonial glory. A society wedding would have been far more interesting, but those were few and far between in the country and one was obliged to work with the material at hand. This would be the biggest wedding Downton would have until one or another of the Crawley girls made a match. That being the case, he immersed himself in the details - the flowers, the clothes, the guests and their ranking as manifested in where they sat, the role of the Crawleys - and he was looking forward to a very good party afterward. A feast was almost as rare as a wedding, and he understood that the Downton wine cellars had been opened for the event, another unprecedented treat.

 **The Upstairs Family**

The Crawley women - the Dowager, Her Ladyship, Lady Mary, and Lady Edith - were also thoughtful observers of the scene.

Cora felt a little thrill of pride to see Mrs. Hughes wearing the coat, glad that she had made the gesture. That thought quickly faded into a general appreciation of the moment. Cora remembered her own march down this aisle and wondered if Mrs. Hughes, though more mature in years, shared that same sense of mingled anticipation, exhilaration, and terror that she had known. This wedding had prompted Cora to a new level of regard for Mrs. Hughes. The woman had faced down Mary on the issue of the reception venue and done so with a dignified manner before them all. She had also resisted Carson's pressure to conform which, Cora was certain, was not inconsiderable. They were brides at different times in their lives, she and Mrs. Hughes, but Cora appreciated and admired nonetheless the courage the housekeeper had shown. It had been years before she herself had been able to summon such grit to confront the formidable Crawleys. As the bride and her escort reached the altar rail, Cora's attention shifted to her own husband, looking so handsome beside an equally dashing Carson. Robert had not looked this happy in church since he had seen Mary married to Matthew. Cora was so proud of him for playing this part today.

The Dowager looked on the whole event with an abiding satisfaction. In her mind, Carson and Mrs. Hughes were part of Downton and every aspect of Downton was required to maintain a certain standard that all associated with it might continue to take pride in it. That had been achieved here. The Dowager was very fond of Carson, more so than of any other member of staff. His first allegiance had always been to the Earl of Grantham, a simple fact which she both appreciated and respected. But she had realized very early on, as Carson himself had, that they were often of one mind about things. They were natural allies and if, on occasion, he had taken His Lordship's part against her, she acknowledged it as a reflection of his higher calling of loyalty and not held it against him. She was proud of him today. Though he was flouting a time-honoured tradition in marrying, yet he did so with characteristic regard for the correct forms. In this, as in almost everything, he was a model for all of Downton.

Violet had no specific attachment to Mrs. Hughes, beyond an appreciation for the woman's many skills and fundamental common sense, a widely underestimated virtue. Though not effusive in her sentiments about the woman, the Dowager was nevertheless sincere in her regard. And in this moment, she had only the warmest wishes for the housekeeper and hoped that she might derive great pleasure from this momentous change in her life. Certainly she had made a very sound choice in her soon-to-be husband. Sadly, such a level of wisdom was not as common as one might have hoped.

As her eyes fell on the bride, Lady Edith felt a pang of anguish. She remembered that walk up the aisle. Those few minutes had been perhaps the most exciting of her life, and among the happiest. She had been bursting with anticipation, overflowing with joy at the prospect of joining everyone else, of becoming a member in the club of the married. She had stood apart in so many ways for much of her life. Enter Sir Anthony Strallan, her knight, come to rescue her from that lonely existence. She had adored him and thought he adored her. And then it had all fallen to pieces. The collapse had taken less time than the traditional procession up the aisle, but those agonizing few moments before the altar occupied a larger-than-life area of her memory, never to be erased.

But there would be no disaster for Mrs. Hughes. Edith had watched Carson in those few minutes before the music began, standing there at the front of the church, engaged in earnest whispered deliberations with Papa. Carson was nervous, yes, but eager. It was funny how she had never appreciated that Carson might be a man like any other, capable of falling in love, and of harbouring a passion rivaling that of any man Edith's age. There would be no second thoughts here, no abandonment at the altar. The Carsons would go off together at the end of this day in a state of wedded bliss the like of which Edith could still only just dream.

Isobel Crawley was enjoying herself. This wedding might have inspired her to wistful regret about the state of her own love life, but no one was more capable of pushing such feelings to the rear and living in the moment than she. The atmosphere in the church was light and happy. Everyone present was delighted for the bride and the groom, and so they should be. Isobel was especially pleased for Mrs. Hughes, the staff member at Downton Abbey with whom, save Molelsey, she was best acquainted. She saw more of Carson, but he remained aloof and was, after all, far too much Violet's creature ever to win Isobel's heart completely, however much she might respect him. But she had worked with Mrs. Hughes on a few projects - notably Ethel Parks and Charles Grigg - and felt they were of like minds, or spirits anyway. Mrs. Hughes was a good woman who ought to be happy, and all indications were that in marrying Carson she would be. Isobel could not have been more delighted. And wasn't that a lovely dress she was wearing!

It was natural, of course, as the bride entered the church to look her way and Lady Mary did so, instinctively, but also deliberately, having a personal interest in the bride's dress. Anna and Baxter had managed things superbly, she noted. The dress was a critical success. For once Mrs. Hughes looked bright and happy. Mary was glad for her.

But her gaze quickly reverted to Carson. She was the only person in the church who was watching the groom as he watched the bride make her way up the aisle. And she saw in his countenance the look she had glimpsed that day at the cottage, now on full display for he was at his most unguarded here. Like Mrs. Hughes, Mary saw the look of adoration in his eyes and recognized it for what it was. He truly loved Mrs. Hughes and he was so very happy this day. Tears formed in Mary's eyes at this revelation. She loved him, as she hardly ever explicitly admitted, even to herself, and her heart was bursting with happiness. And she felt just a little pang of guilt for having caused him any grief over this great event. She could and would attend to that later. In the moment, she could only bask in the glow of his overwhelming joy.

 **The Escort**

Mr. Bates was taking his job very seriously. For once he saw an advantage to his limp because it kept their pace moderate. Mrs. Hughes might otherwise have let her nerves accelerate their progress. She had gripped his arm so tightly as they came into the church, an understandable reflection of her heightened emotional state. And then he felt the tension ease and glanced down to see her chin up and her eyes fixed well beyond them on Mr. Carson at the front of the church. At this, Bates allowed himself a small smile, proud of her courage. Like Mrs. Hughes, he did not like being the centre of attention, but he dismissed his discomfort with a reminder that he was doing this for her and was glad about it. And besides, all eyes were really on her.

Well, all eyes but Anna's. He thought he could feel her eyes boring into him from her seat in the second row on the left. His smile broadened just thinking about her. As they came abreast of her, still he did not look her way, but he gave a little nod, just to let her know he knew she was there. He was looking forward to hearing what she had to say about his surprise.

And then they were at the front and he was handing Mrs. Hughes over to a glowing Mr. Carson. Bates had never seen the man so emotionally unfettered. But there he was radiating happiness and pride and delight. Well, Bates knew what love did to a man. As he released her arm, Bates bent down to whisper in Mrs. Hughes's ear. "Good luck," he said, and then beat as discrete a retreat as it was possible to make. He stepped back to the second row where Anna obligingly moved in to accommodate him. And finally he glanced down at her and met her gaze for the first time since he had entered the church. Her sparkling green eyes danced with a satisfaction all her own, her heart full of love for this man of honour who stood beside her. She slipped her arm around his and he grinned at her. Then they turned their attention to the front of the church.

 **Them**

Now they stood at the altar rail together, with Mr. Travis before them, each in the moment speechless in wonder and able to communicate only through deep looks of loving longing.

Carson found himself almost in shock, overwhelmed by his bride's extraordinary beauty, humbled that she was honouring him with the promise of becoming his wife. They had known each other for _thirty_ years, ever since she had come to Downton as head housemaid. It had taken him almost thirty years to realize what she was and could be to him. They could not afford this kind of reserve, this leisurely approach to each other, any more. As he gazed into those captivating blue eyes, now staring at him with more open affection than he had ever known them to show, he silently resolved there, before her and more importantly before God, that he would never be so dilatory again. He would seize every opportunity to show her in every meaningful way how very much he loved her.

Mrs. Hughes stood mesmerized by his great dark eyes from which his boundless love for her poured forth so freely. Her breath caught in her throat as she realized that she loved him every bit as much as he did her. How could she ever have doubted herself? This was what came of playing her cards so close to her chest, always guarding against hurt. She had almost deceived herself. He had coaxed her out into the open, this blustering bear of man, and she must now, and always, respond to him in kind. She here silently pledged before him, and before God, too, that she would open her heart to him so that he might never have cause to doubt the depths of her love.

The marriage rites of the Church of England were comfortingly familiar to them both, although more so to him as a son of that denomination. She was pleased and relieved to hear a steadiness in her voice as she spoke her vows. If she sounded not quite normal and natural, well, that was all right, too. These were extraordinary circumstances and they demanded an unusual level of solemnity.

" _For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish, and to obey, 'til death us do part, according to God's holy ordinance..."_

At the appropriate moment, the best man stepped forward, smoothly handed the ring into the surprisingly still hands of the groom, and then withdrew as gracefully as though he had played a supporting role all of his life. In those few seconds, Robert reflected proudly on Carson's steadiness, which had been the hallmark of his professionalism in a half-century of service.

He took her hand and slipped the ring on her finger with ease - it fit perfectly! - though his gaze never wavered from hers as he spoke those old words that had for ages past bound couples together in love.

" _With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, with all my worldly goods I thee endow._ "

" _In the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Ghost. Amen."_

He uttered these words with a gravity that reflected the deep emotional investment of his great heart in this commitment, so long coming.

Then they were, as Mr. Travis pronounced them, "man and wife together" and they kissed.

They kissed right there, before the altar of God, and Mr. Travis. In front of the family and all their friends and well-wishers, this most private and discrete of all couples shared an intimate moment with the multitudes, and were never more oblivious to them all.

She had clung to Mr. Bates on the way up the aisle, but as they made their way back, with her now enjoying meeting the eyes of the myriad faces turned their way, they walked together freely, side by side, but not arm in arm. This was important to her. She was overcome with a sense of freedom, _more_ freedom now, rather than less, as the weight of apprehensions and anticipation vanished in the face of blissful reality. They were husband and wife now, and she knew she had never wanted anything more.

He was swept with the unexpected exhilaration of freedom as well, freedom from the inhibitions he had lived with almost all of his adult life, all those formal restrictions he had observed for so long that he had stopped distinguishing between them and his true nature.

But now he brushed them off easily and on the church steps, as the bagpipes wailed (not his idea, she had wanted them), and those who hadn't gotten into the church pelted them with rice, he turned and bent to kiss her. Again. Right there in the full glare of a cheering crowd. A few yards on, the impulse gripped him again - it was going to take forever to walk to the schoolhouse at this rate - and this time she surprised him by anticipating him and reaching up to meet his kiss.

They were now, in the eyes of God and of this congregation, well and truly stuck with each other. And neither could have been happier.

 **THE END**

 **Author's Note:** It had been my intention to write this through the wedding breakfast, but this seems like a better place to end it. As for the next stage in the relationship between Mr. Carson and Mrs Hughes (now Mrs. Carson), I have in mind to write a honeymoon story in several chapters. It is in process now.

Thank you to all readers of this story. Thank you, especially, to all reviewers. One can never say it too often: reviews are a stimulus to writing. If you find yourself reading a story - anyone's story - and desperately wanting to know what happens next, write a review. All writers appreciate them. I know that those who have reviewed my stories have played a role in getting me to the next level. EC


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